Crash and Burn
by MagpieTales
Summary: Long Haul Saga: Part 2. Sookie returns to Bon Temps, free of the effects of the fairy wish and determined to build a new life for herself. But things never go smoothly for our girl. She finds herself dragged deeper into the supernatural world, in ways she didn't imagine. Spoilers for all books, Sookie and Eric POV.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and settings belong to Charlaine Harris. She created and owns them, I'm just playing dress up.  
**

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**Author's note:** Hi lovely readers! Sorry this sequel has been so long coming. It's half written, so I'm intending to post a chapter a week while I'm finishing it so you don't all forget I exist.

As usual, this is an adult story. It will be long (so long) and there will be angst. In fact just imagine 'Don't Panic' written in friendly pink letters at the start of every chapter. It will help. First a brief recap for those who don't want to reread Turbulence, and then on with the show...

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**Recap of Turbulence:  
**_Three years after he was forced to marry Freyda, Eric was caught up in a complicated political plot woven by Alabama, an old adversary, who married Freyda bigamously using a loophole in Ocella's contract. Eric was tortured and almost killed. Rescued in the nick of time, Karin and Freyda were ended in the fight. Pam brought Eric home to recover._

_Back at the farmstead, Sookie, grieving over a miscarriage, argued with Sam, who took off to Texas without her for Thanksgiving. After much soul-searching over her failing marriage, Sookie went to Pam for advice and was shocked to run into Eric. _

_The next day Sookie was kidnapped by Lattesta but rescued by Pam. Back home she sustained a serious head injury. Eric healed her despite his own injuries, but collapsed. Sookie woke up to find him out cold. She fed him, but it took Pam's blood to revive him. A furious Sam arrived and so, unexpectedly, did Niall. Niall offered Eric a healer to repay him for saving Sookie. _

_The healer, Rory, was a fae woman who is more than she seems. Part-dae and an empath; she healed Eric and helped with the trauma of his torture. Eric thanked her, giving her some power over him._

_Sookie got sound advice about Sam from Michele and Kennedy, Tara not so much. Sam was evasive about the guards Niall mentioned, so Sookie went to Fangtasia to ask Pam. She shared hug with Eric and discovered her peaceful life was a sham. The guards had foiled several attempts on her life. Then Rory arrived and dropped a bombshell: Sookie was tied magically to Sam, a 'join' created by the wish Sookie made to save him. Rory was adamant that Sookie didn't love Sam, but Sookie protested that she did and left._

_When Sam found Sookie at home smelling of Eric, he flew into a rage, almost shifting. Sookie discovered, from Niall, Amelia and Dr Ludwig, that the join was responsible for Sam's erratic behaviour. Jason saw Sookie's bruises and picked a fight with Sam, landing them both in jail. Kenya, worried Sookie would be hurt, persuaded Sam to stay away for a few nights. It all came to a head in his trailer: Sam forced Sookie to admit she didn't love him. In turmoil, he moved out of the house._

_Meanwhile, Eric was in Dallas for Alabama's trial. Rory arrived with damning evidence against her and her plot was exposed. The verdict went against her. Eric ended her, getting closure, and found he had powerful allies. Texas, Mississippi and Indiana asked him to take Louisiana, but Eric was wary of another plot._

_Niall found a way to remove the join. Leaving a letter for Sam, Sookie said good-bye to her family and friends and travelled to England. There she crossed into another realm to meet a powerful ancient woman who immersed her in a sacred pool to remove the join. She made it back to England and Niall, and then collapsed._

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**Prologue:**

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**Part I: Safe Harbour:**

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Darkness. My eyes wouldn't open. My limbs were limp, unresponsive. I was swaying in some-one's arms, carried. Then lowered, jostled onto a soft bed. Oblivion.

…

Rousing briefly, eyes scrunched against the dim light, I struggled to roll over, damp sheets clinging to my clammy skin.

Later, a draft roused me, cool against the sweat on my back. I shivered, chilled. Soft covers were tucked gently around me, hushed voices whispered close by. Cocooned in comfort and warmth I slid back into the dark, to dream strange dreams.

_Dead birds hung in a tree; dead birds that stirred, screeching and flapping to life._

_Honey eyes in a tanned face, crooked teeth in a shy smile._

_A drowned woman rose, dripping, from a pool, her cold flesh flushing with life and health, straggles of hair dark with water and dripping weeds drying rapidly into golden braids woven with water lilies. She smiled at me._

_A wood, blanketed with snow that melted in seconds, a carpet of blue flowers blossoming in its place._

The dreams let me go, let me float to the surface.

The room was dark and I burned with thirst. A cloth, cool and wet, dabbed gently at my forehead. A wiry arm slipped under my shoulders and lifted me. A glass pressed against my lips, coaxing words were murmured. I drank the tepid liquid greedily, tasting sweetness and spices.

Sleep and fever dreams tugged me back into the depths.

...

I felt like an old dish-rag that had been wrung out too many times. Frayed around the edges.

I opened my eyes to a blue wall, which might have been calming if I had the slightest idea where I was. There was a quiet familiar noise behind me, a rhythmic snick-snacking. Gingerly rolling onto my back, I saw a homely bedroom with solid wooden furniture, door half-open and one window, drapes closed against the daylight.

An elderly lady sat beside the bed, knitting with neat precision. Her hands stilled and she looked up.

Unruly tendrils of white hair curled from her bun to frame her nut-brown face. A face wizened with age, cheeks plump, but etched deep by wind and sun and ready smiles. Her warm brown eyes crinkled with pleasure.

"Good mornin', dearie. Daveth will be relieved. That boy 'as been worried sick." Her voice had a warm, rich burr that rubbed all the hard sounds of her words soft.

I conducted a mental stock-take. Nope, I didn't recognise my hostess or this room, and I didn't recall a Daveth either. I cleared my throat and asked huskily, "What date is it?"

Now that might sound rude, and not the most obvious question to ask after waking up in a strange bed, but my situation was hardly normal. My last coherent memory was coming back – to England, I hoped that was where I was – after a trippy day-trip to another realm. Having left in the depths of winter and found spring had sprung when I returned, the date was an urgent priority.

She answered kindly, "It be Sunday, twenty-third of May, my love. Niall brought you 'ere Tuesday last, burning up with fever. 'E asked me to look af'er 'ee. I be Talwynn. But 'ee can call me Wynn."

"Pleased to meet you," I croaked automatically. I'd been gone six months, just as Niall predicted. "Where am I? Who's Daveth?

"We be jus' up the 'ill from the Rising Sun. My grandson Daveth fetched your things over." She gestured at my case sitting in the corner, and then tutted at herself. "'E'd be Dave to thee. 'Ee fetched 'ee from London last December." Her eyes flickered with caution. "Remember that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"None of that. Wynn," she corrected firmly, looking relieved I hadn't forgotten. "Now, I'll fetch some broth and af'er that 'ee can 'ave a bath."

Wynn was tiny and some age if Dave was her grandson, but she sure wasn't frail. She bustled up and down the steep stairs with a tray and stripped the bed the second I was out of it. The broth soothed my throat and the bath was heavenly. Weak and shaky, I pulled on a fresh nightgown and slid gratefully between clean sheets. Wynn let me sleep the day away, only waking me for more broth in the evening.

…

Wynn left me alone most of the next day. I appreciated that, feeling like I'd had a bad bout of 'flu. I'd never liked company while I was too weak to keep out thoughts that weren't mine. I spent the time resting, napping and thinking. Thankfully my head was clear despite my fatigue.

The weightiest topic, the one that consumed me in quiet moments, was my marriage to Sam.

I came to some long overdue conclusions. Michele had been spot on: I had settled for less, for safety over passion, friendship over ardour. That missing spark was why Sam complained that I shut him out. Not that he was wrong. I had.

I hadn't given our relationship my all.

It went beyond stubbornly keeping my savings to myself. I had consistently hidden parts of my life, myself from him: I didn't share my grief, my fears over my fairy-ness, even my renewed friendship with Pam. I didn't discuss the future with him. I didn't act as if we were a team.

We had our 'special' difficulties too. My telepathy got in the way and, if I was honest, I had a hard time with Sam's otherness too. If I'd tried harder to accept his nature maybe I could have overcome that. But I hadn't. I hadn't tried with my whole heart.

Sam was right: no healthy relationship could flourish if one person held back.

Oh sure, I'd thrown myself into being a dutiful wife to compensate for the absence of passion between us. I'd taken that too far, giving up my college dreams without a murmur of discontent, concentrating on Sam's needs instead – running the bar, fitting in with his family, providing him with children, or trying to – all when I hadn't truly loved him.

Mulling over how much I'd changed for Sam made me uneasy. Pam had nailed that, I admitted ruefully. I could blame it on the fairy magic, but I had vowed to prove his mom Bernie wrong, vowed to make Sam happy, hadn't I? I suspected that was sheer Stackhouse stubbornness, no magic required.

Discovering my wish had kept Sam magically tied to me had been a shock for both of us. Sam resented the hell out of me for inadvertently taking his freedom. The whole mess forced us both to face the painful fact that I didn't love him and that hurt him deeply. With a nudge from Bernie in evil mother-in-law mode, Sam had abruptly moved out. Right after that, the awful prospect of the magic destroying Sam had sent me rushing across the Atlantic in full-on saviour mode to get rid of the damn 'join'.

Now the crisis was over, Sam's resentment didn't seem entirely reasonable. It wasn't like I'd planned to control him; the join was an unintended consequence of saving his life. Sam had reacted as if I'd done it deliberately.

He'd sure been quick to jump ship on me, too. That hurt and I went to sleep that night a little resentful myself.

…

The second day brought further clarity, my blinkers gone with the join. I shook off my disquiet about what that implied and evaluated Sam as a husband, fairy magical influences aside. I owed him that much.

He was a good provider. We ran the bar well together, our skills complementing each other's. He was kind and decent. We shared similar values and faith. He'd done his best to protect me from his family's curiosity, tried to calm their fears about my ability. They'd accepted me after a few hiccups, Bernie aside. And he'd tried to stand up to her, as best he could. Most of Bon Temps approved of us. He was a good friend.

Those things were all positive, but didn't I deserve more?

And Sam had his flaws.

He was secretive and not just about being a shifter. His casual mention of a wild teenage past made me realise that after three years together I knew precious little about his life before he came to Bon Temps. I could forgive him hiding a painful past, but not for hiding things I needed to know: things about the supe world, what was happening around me and the danger I was in. He was far too eager to keep me in the dark over that. I didn't want that sort of protection.

He was an intensely private man. That made him uncomfortable with my telepathy and around Hunter. Yet Sam didn't respect my privacy, never had. That wasn't the magic. Years ago he'd revealed my relationship with Bill to all and sundry without a second thought. He had no qualms about discussing my business online with Lord knows who either. When things went to hell between us, he ran his mouth off to Tara and half of Hotshot about me, triggering a buzz of salacious gossip, all of it untrue.

I expected more consideration for my privacy when he guarded his own so tightly.

Sam had an unfortunate tendency to jump to conclusions. First my miscarriages were cause by his nature, not that he furnished me with that explanation. Then he blamed the vamp blood I'd had. When Eric turned up, Sam was convinced that I'd invited Eric into our home, that Eric had engineered getting his blood into me again. Granted, Sam had never been fond of vamps – a prejudice handed down from his mom, I suspected – and Eric was certainly not his best undead buddy. But it wasn't just vamps; Sam had treated Quinn with the same suspicion.

Come to think of it, Sam had been territorial back when we were engaged, muttering and pouting every time I ran into Bill or Alcide. I'd been flattered, put it down as a supe thing. I knew now, no thanks to Sam, that he didn't get full rights over me in the supe world until we were married, which explained some of his insecurity. Unfortunately, like a fool, I'd kept the peace by avoiding Bill and Alcide. That set an unfortunate precedent. Sam expected me to avoid any man he saw as a threat.

So … Sam didn't trust me. He was jealous and possessive.

Remembering how Sam was back when I was with Bill, I figured that was Sam's true self, not the magic. I wouldn't stand for that or his recent behaviour – searching my purse and phone, maybe even following me to Fangtasia.

Could I trust him?

He'd flirted with that shifter girl at Merlotte's. Right in front of me. He might have felt guilty, but he certainly didn't stop being 'friendly' to female customers to spare my feelings. I got pissed all over again when it dawned on me that Sam sure had one hell of a double standard there, expecting me to avoid attractive men.

He _had_ refused that skank he met in Texas, the one who shoved her tongue down his throat all _uninvited_. I rolled my eyes. He was drunk and dancing with her, it wasn't that uninvited. How much temptation he could resist without fairy magic tying him to me? He said himself shifters found the call of the wild hard to ignore. Worse: when Thalia said he smelt of another woman he'd flat-out lied. Instead of coming clean about Skanky McSkank he'd used my telepathy to mislead me without a second thought. So quickly and smoothly I felt it showed his true character.

A man used to covering his tracks.

That gave me pause. Messing around with other women and lying about it? Hell no, that wasn't for me.

Other incidents seemed manipulative with hindsight. For such a private man, proposing in front of our friends was odd. Had he done that to make it harder for me to refuse him? Had he gone as far as getting Jason and Tara on side beforehand, hoping they'd sway me?

Then there was the subtle pressure to have children. The birth control 'oops' on our honeymoon had freaked me out, but he was totally unfazed. He dropped hints that I stubbornly ignored, until he offered to babysit Tara's twin on our first Valentine's Day. What guy does that? That was decidedly suspect. Had he tried to rail-road me into that too? Sam never questioned if I really wanted kids, or opened up on why it was so important to him. Did he even want kids or was that the join pushing him to bind us together anyway he could?

The violence though, that had to be the magic. I knew Sam, the normal stresses and strains of life wouldn't have been enough to push him to that. Probably.

I sighed. The damn fairy magic clouded everything.

The last two strikes against him disappointed me deeply and there was no magical pass for either in my book.

First, he had no idea how miserable I'd been for the last year. I didn't think that was expecting too much. It was obvious to Kennedy, Michele and even Pam, who barely saw me. Sam, who lived with me, had been completely oblivious, blamed it all on the miscarriages. I wanted a husband who was in tune with me, not one who took me for granted, saw me as a baby-factory.

Second, as Michele predicted, Sam had been real reluctant to try therapy. Maybe men did baulk at that, but he must've known it was our only chance. Without real commitment from him it would have been as effective as slapping a band-aid on a severed artery.

No, all in all, Sam was not the right man for me. Not even a good-enough man.

Bottom line: I didn't love him.

That evening not only was I well enough for a proper meal, but I was decided. I was ready to call it quits and start divorce proceedings as soon as I got home.

Kennedy was right: I would survive it.

…

Wynn had just arrived with breakfast when loud footsteps thundered up the stairs. She winked at me as she settled a full breakfast tray on my lap. The bacon smelt delicious. She crossed quickly to the open door and hissed, "Daveth, stop that racket!"

The footsteps stopped and there was a much quieter mumbled apology.

"I should think so too, young man." The mischievous look she shot me contrasted with her scolding tone. She asked me conversationally, "Can 'e see the patient?"

I grinned. "Sure."

Footsteps hammered up the last few stairs and a large body filled the doorway. Dave, his hair a little longer than when I'd last seen him but his eyes just as friendly, grinned broadly at the sight of me sitting up in bed. His thoughts were still murky to me but I felt his relief, which was more than I got from Wynn. She was a closed book and I had no idea what kind. I felt at ease with her, though.

"Morning, Miss Stackhouse. You look a lot better. Nana's remedies never fail, hey Nana?"

"Shush boy. Did 'ee get my shopping?"

"Yes, Nana. It's in the kitchen. Think you'll be up and about soon, Miss Stackhouse?"

"I think so. It's nice to see you, Dave. Call me Sookie."

He beamed at me. "You should stay another week, see the sights. I'd be happy to show you around."

"Oh, I couldn't. You've both done so much–"

Wynn butted in. "Nonsense. I don't turn sick folk out, not even Niall's kin." She winked mischievously. "And an 'oliday do 'ee good, lovey."

I'd already discovered saying no to Wynn was fruitless; the spry old gal rolled right over you like Katrina. It _was_ tempting, but I had Jason waiting for me, and Sam… I sighed. "I'll think about it."

Wynn gave me a shrewd look before she ushered Dave out so I could eat in peace.

…

After lunch, Wynn insisted on some fresh air, saying, "Sunshine be good for thee and thine, my love."

I didn't argue. Dressed in comfortable sweats, I made my way shakily downstairs and followed her out into the backyard, squinting against the light.

Linked by stone steps, a series of lawns were cut into the steep rising hillside. Each was surrounded by lush beds teeming with a bounty of plants that burgeoned over the green pools of neatly trimmed grass. A profusion of flowers of all colours, it was a genuine English country garden, the daylight version of Karin's moonlit painting.

Wynn settled me halfway up the slope, on a sheltered bench angled to catch the afternoon sun. I tucked the blanket she gave me over my legs. The heat wasn't as fierce as Louisiana, but the May sunshine warmed my bare arms pleasantly nonetheless.

Wynn reappeared in a wide hat, carrying a shallow wicker basket that held a ball of string and a small curved blade. A silver sickle. Odd, but Wynn was no ordinary old lady. She began working her way along the beds, cutting stems of flowers and herbs, tying them in bundles and humming quietly to herself. I soaked up the rays, relaxing to the sound of bees lazily visiting the lavender that was sending up clouds of sweet scent around me.

After a spell, Wynn's task brought her closer and we chatted some, finding we had barmaiding in common. She told me how she met her husband, a handsome fisherman, in the pub she worked at, and the fuss his mother made over them marrying because Wynn was older than him.

"Family be family, but in-laws be zummat else," she chuckled and I agreed heartily, thinking of Bernie.

Wynn lost her husband to the sea, but not before he had time to give her two strapping lads, and 'plenty of practice making 'em' she added with a wink. She told old stories about the herbs she was cutting. I suspected she knew a few unconventional 'recipes', but I didn't like to ask outright if she was a witch when she'd been so hospitable. We shared gardening tips, which led to me admiring the red rose climbing above her back door. I wondered aloud how Gran's roses were faring under Jason's less than tender care.

Wynn glanced up from her work and said shrewdly, "Ee were close to 'er."

Wynn was someone else's grandmother. I missed mine. I swallowed. "Yes. Gran raised me and Jason after we lost our parents."

"What were she like?"

I answered haltingly at first, watching Wynn's gnarled brown hands gathering stems instinctively. I described Gran's cooking, her DGD meetings, her love of gardening and gossip. Words flowed easier as I recounted anecdotes about her whooping Jason and putting Maxine Fortenberry in her place, chuckling at the memories. I touched on her strength, her love and her worries for us. Wynn didn't pry, but lulled by the garden and the sun I found myself telling her how Gran was torn between Fintan and her husband, how my daddy and Aunt Linda came to be, and how I wished she'd confided in me when she was alive so I understood why I was different.

Easing herself up and taking a seat next to me, Wynn asked if it had been hard, not knowing.

I answered frankly, unearthing things that had been buried for an age, painful hard things that sat in my heart like stones: the way my mother treated me, how hard school was, growing up as Crazy Sookie in Bon Temps, even a whisper of what Bartlett had done.

When I trailed off into silence, Wynn patted my knee, nodded to herself and got stiffly to her feet. "These old bones be ready for a cuppa, my love. I'll fetch us a cream tea."

She took her harvest inside, giving me time to pack away my sorrows and dry my eyes. When she came back, carrying a loaded tray, she'd swapped her gardening clothes for a Sunday-best dress. 'Cream tea' was fluffy home-made raisin scones with a generous spoonful of Wynn's best strawberry jam and a dollop of cream thick enough to cut. She called it clotted cream. It was delicious.

The mug of tea was very soothing. If the flavour was unusual, it hit the spot and I wasn't complaining.

…

The sunshine helped; I felt stronger. That evening I ate a light meal in the kitchen with Wynn, admiring her copper pans and the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, drinking more of her unusual tea.

I went to bed early and lay in the dark, my body relaxed and my mind strangely lucid. Talking with Wynn had drawn long-forgotten memories up from the dark depths, the past bubbling up to bring the present into sharper focus.

I'd made some colossal mistakes with Sam. I wasn't the sort to put myself under a microscope and self-analyse, but I would be doomed to repeat those mistakes if I didn't understand them.

Gran had raised me with old-fashioned ideas about marriage. Not that I was about to throw all of them out with the bathwater, but marrying Sam had fulfilled the life goals I'd been raised to seek: a well-run home, a hard-working husband, a couple of healthy kids. Sam fit the bill, down to the white picket fence if the one around his trailer counted.

I'd never expected to be so blessed, so I'd never given much thought to whether I actually wanted that. Women had other options these days. High-powered careers.

Well, some did. Education, a lack of it, limited my options. I'd planned to rectify that, but I hadn't even taken a bookkeeping course for the bar. I'd hardly hit my thirties running, career-wise, but there was still time to go to college. School had been a disaster, but I had control of my telepathy now. Heck, if Jason could do it, college would be a piece of cake.

Doubts about my intelligence whispered in my ear, nibbling at my confidence. I silenced them firmly, recognising a legacy from my momma, Michelle. All those tests she put me through, teachers and psychologists with long faces shaking their heads sadly at my parents.

That was enough to knock any kid's self-confidence.

I wasn't stupid or defective. I knew that. I wasn't that scared kid either, begging to stop the tests that made my head hurt, pleading for my momma's approval.

I didn't beg for anyone's approval now, I thought fiercely.

Wait.

I'd pleaded with Sam not to leave me. Heck, I'd stooped as low as a desperate 'I love you'.

I winced, ashamed. Oh, I'd convinced myself I meant it, but the lie was obvious to Sam. He had, quite rightly, laughed in my face.

It would be easy to say the join confused me, camouflaged my feelings, but honestly that was an excuse. Marriage meant love, had to in my book. I'd married him, therefore I must love him. I'd said it, lying to both of us, because otherwise nothing about us made sense.

That was on me.

But... I would never beg a man to stay if I was myself. I had too much pride. The neediness, the weepy apologies that coloured my time with Sam, those had to be the join. Right?

Those damn memories bubbled up at me. Momma, cold and disapproving; my childhood, spent ostracised and lonely; my daddy gone, washed away. Even Gran's love couldn't heal those wounds completely.

I yearned for the love and companionship I'd missed out on, hearing only criticism and censure from the thoughts around me. Had I clung to Sam because of that lonely child who believed no man would ever want her?

_Because I was broken, damaged goods. I didn't deserve happiness._

That hurtful litany had haunted me after the miscarriages. Rationally I knew it wasn't true, but my reaction had been far from rational. I had been devastated.

The root of that internal voice was smack-in-the-face obvious. Uncle Bartlett, the gift that just kept on giving.

Momma's reaction too. _Sookie's messing around with boys too young, making up nasty stories for attention. _Labelling her peculiar daughter a precocious liar was preferable to losing a babysitter and time alone with my daddy.

If only I'd been like other kids, blissfully ignorant of her opinions and Bartlett's twisted desires. My damn telepathy ruined my innocence far too young.

A moment of clarity jolted me.

I was blaming my telepathy, not the people who hurt me.

Just like momma had.

I'd been doing that for years. When other kids avoided me, pitied me or, worse, taunted me out of fear, I blamed my disability not their small-minded intolerance. Crazy Sookie was a target unless she became Normal Sookie. I'd prayed to fit in, be a regular person. I hated the telepathy, tried to hide it, scrub it away.

Why wouldn't I? I'd learnt to be ashamed of it at my momma's knee. Even Gran's acceptance couldn't undo that.

How long had that particular monkey been riding me?

Too long. Marrying Sam gave me a chance to be 'normal'. Determined not to spoil it, I told Sam I could hardly read his thoughts. Sam encouraged me to try and it was fun at first, but even that turned sour. It was okay to joke around, but if I accidentally overheard him when he didn't want me to, or when we fought, Sam took it as a betrayal.

Just like momma, he couldn't accept my quirk. The last in a long line of rejections, Sam's bit deep.

I gasped, covering my mouth in the darkness.

I'd bitten back. All those fights when I lashed out, recklessly provoking him. That was why. I was angry, so angry, that even Sam, my husband, hated that part of me.

Gran was the only one who'd accepted my telepathy. Even daddy hadn't, although he had once shrewdly asked my opinion of a business deal so he wasn't as disgusted by the idea as momma. But if he suspected I could read minds, why hadn't he tried to help me?

Maybe he didn't want to rock the boat with momma. I wished Gran had told him. If he'd known where it came from, things would have been different for sure. But Gran kept me and everyone else in the dark, ashamed of her adultery with Fintan and unsure how to explain the whole fairy thing. That hurt, even now, that she kept her secrets rather than stepping up for me.

Learning that your guiding light was fallible was a hard lesson, but I should take comfort in it. Much as I loved her, Gran hadn't been perfect. If the best of us made mistakes, I could forgive my own.

And correct them. I vowed I'd never be ashamed of my telepathy again. It was part of me.

…

My strange bout of introspection had unknotted something inside me.

The next morning, Thursday, I threw caution to the wind and decided to take that vacation I deserved. I'd be a fool not to; it was a once in a life time opportunity.

Wynn insisted I was welcome to stay with her, but I decided to go back to the hotel. Niall had reserved a room there for me. I felt guilty accepting his generosity until I reminded myself sternly that he'd missed years of birthdays. The guilt might have won out if he'd stuck around instead of dumping me with strangers. Pleasant strangers, but still strangers.

I called the airline and confirmed my flight home in a week, and then, after checking the time difference twice, I made two calls to Louisiana.

Pam didn't sound surprised to hear from me an hour before dawn her time. I told her when I expected to be home and she offered to have a car meet me in Dallas. I accepted gratefully, and promised we'd have that talk about the guard situation that was six months overdue for her, only days late for me. As I hung up after our mercifully short call, I cringed wondering if the guards had lost income while I was out of town, but it couldn't be helped.

I had to wait a while to call Jason, but I timed it just right and caught him at home. We had a garbled conversation. Already excitable with the approaching full moon, he was ecstatic that I was okay and that I'd be home before Michele was due to give birth. I was pleased as punch to hear it was a girl. Junior was babbling in the background and I got more sense out of Michele once she took the phone. She complained about her aching back, but scolded me when I offered to come home early to help out. She told me to bring back an armful of souvenirs and, with her order to have a wonderful vacation ringing in my ears, I packed up my things, hugged Wynn and headed gleefully to the Rising Sun.

I got the same room. I may have bounced on that gorgeous half-poster bed again, squealing like a kid.

…

* * *

**Part 2: Renewal:**

* * *

I spent my first day solo, exploring the harbour and snapping away with the digital camera Dave leant me. He wouldn't accept anything but a hug for it, but I'd insisted on buying my own memory card. Sun was forecast for the week, giving me a cheerful icebreaker to use with everyone I met. Chatting about the weather really was a national pastime. Folk were real friendly to a single girl too, which eased the awkwardness of being alone.

That afternoon I strolled along the seafront nibbling an ice-cream. Some giggling ahead of me caught my attention. Two teenage girls, arm in arm, were chattering away without a care in the world.

I sighed. Tara. We hadn't parted on the best of terms. She'd bawled me out. I'd slapped her. I hadn't spoken to her again before I left, not caring whether I was burning my last bridge with her. I glanced guiltily at the girls in front of me, heads bent to together, whispering secrets.

I hadn't given Tara that recently: unconditional support, no questions asked.

I'd been judgemental of the way she raised her kids. She got overwhelmed, resented the twins at times, but she wasn't a bad mother. I'd been reacting to her thoughts, so painfully like my momma's. Oh, I'd kept my criticisms to myself, but I'd hardly been encouraging. Which was awful; Tara had enough doubts over her parenting skills after her own lousy role models. Lord knew how I'd take to motherhood myself if I was ever blessed with it. It wasn't easy.

Then there was her unhappy marriage. In my heart, I felt JB deserved better.

Trouble was Tara was stained by her past in my eyes, that woman hell-bent on poor choices she'd been. The one who got tangled up with orgies for Eggs and took gifts from Franklin Mott. The one whose butt I rescued from that psycho Mickey, almost a day late and a dollar short.

I didn't trust her moral judgement.

Although I understood exactly why Tara had settled for JB after those jerks, I dismissed her complaints and unhappiness with a cold: S_he m__ade her bed_.

An incredibly hard-hearted attitude when I'd done just the same with Sam. Ironic too, given that I was the one refusing to lay in my bed, not Tara. She wasn't getting a divorce.

Unless JB had found out about _Clive_. I shuddered, recalling Tara's intimate memories of him. Keeping an affair secret around me was no mean feat, but if she didn't think it I couldn't hear it. And Tara was good at hiding things from herself.

Maybe if I'd been more sympathetic...

I sighed irritably. Nope, I wasn't taking responsibility for her mistakes. That was on her.

Not that she'd kept her nose out of my marriage. I was so pissed with her. She'd always had my back, but she took Sam's side every damn time we argued. Why was she so invested in me and Sam? Guilt over her own rocky relationship? Or …

Oh, hell. The wish. Had it influenced her somehow, to keep us together? If it had, I had no idea how to undo that.

No point in fretting about something I couldn't fix. I resolved to be a kinder, more compassionate friend when I got back. If Tara was still speaking to me, that–

A man brushed passed, a blast of his mental chatter startling me.

I looked around. The seafront had filled up, the sun drawing out the crowds, but I wasn't being bombarded mentally. Perplexed, I focused on the nearest person. Nope, my telepathy worked fine if I homed in. So why…

Blood. Eric's blood.

Blood only lasted a few months, but as far as my body was concerned only a few weeks had passed. The effects were still strong. It had certainly kicked my control up a whole notch. Vamp blood always made it easier, but this was a dream. Shielding was so effortless I'd barely noticed I was doing it.

A lot of Eric's blood, then.

Was that significant? It made me uneasy, but I couldn't undo that either, so I chose to view it as a blessing. It would make visiting busy tourist spots easier.

…

Eric hung around in the back of my mind all day. He leapt right to the front of it when I saw someone tall ducking under a low door in the hotel dining room. The old building was centuries younger than Eric, giving weight to how much he'd seen in his long life. I toyed with my evening meal, wondering what the heck he ever saw in a barmaid from backwoods Louisiana.

Seeing him after three years had been a shock, an emotional roller-coaster.

I'd fed him blood without a second thought. I had nightmares about him dying. I'd cried in relief at his recovery. We'd shared a very emotional embrace.

But I second-guessed his every move and assumed the worst motives: He was looking out for his own ass. I was an asset to control with his blood. He was out to provoke Sam.

It was safe to say I had very mixed feelings about Eric.

Pam wanted me to trust him. She made reasonable points about how he'd acted over the whole Freyda debacle and I'd refused point-blank to listen.

Now I'd had time to absorb what she said, I accepted that he hadn't had a choice or much to gain by marrying the stuck-up witch of Oklahoma. That meant I couldn't, in all fairness, continue hating him for choosing to further his own position over staying with me. He hadn't.

I was at a loss as to what to feel instead.

It was water under the bridge, ancient history, I told myself and concentrated on eating, recalling other things Pam had discussed. Sam. My guards. Her parting comment one night that Sam wasn't the reason I'd stopped seeing her.

Oh shoot. I finally got that.

She was right, damn it. Sure, I was wary of her reaction to Sam and I knew damn well Sam would rather I had nothing to do with the vamps, but that wasn't the reason I broke off our friendship.

It was Eric.

She reminded me too much of Eric. I couldn't bear to see her after he left. I looked down at my plate and swallowed hard. The holes he left in my life and my heart had healed over, but the scars still ached.

I'd covered up that ache with bitterness, clinging to the idea that he'd left for power and money. That was why I suspected everything he did when he came back. It was safer.

Because when he left, I lost more than I cared to admit.

…

The next day I opened my door to find Dave with a gorgeous bunch of flowers.

"Sweet peas for a sweet lady," he said, bashfully holding them out. I took them and buried my face in them. They smelt heavenly. Once I settled them in a vase by the window, I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek just to see him blush.

He drove me down to Plymouth, on the south coast, where I stood on the very dock the Mayflower had sailed from and had my picture taken. We visited a museum about the Pilgrim Fathers and Francis Drake, who'd also sailed from the harbour. I gushed over the cobbled streets and the old buildings, taking an album's worth of photos. We ate lunch in a pub and then visited two Elizabethan houses, with leaded windows and wooden beams darkened with age. I brushed away images of Eric in period dress, ducking through the low doorways with that smirk of his, and concentrated on appreciating the history.

On the way back Dave took a detour to a certain inn on a bleak moor, made famous by a Daphne du Maurier novel I'd read as a teenager. I was eager to see if the setting lived up to my imagination.

It did.

Supposedly haunted, the impressive stone building wasn't so bleak in the sunshine, which suited me just fine. I'd had my fill of brooding moors during my otherworldly trip. I wandered around the little museum while Dave regaled me with stories of smugglers and wreckers, secret caves and daring chases across the moors. We had a lovely meal there before the long drive back. I dozed in the back seat, still tired from the fever and that night I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep the second my head found my pillow.

On Sunday, Dave took me down the coast to Tintagel, said to be King Arthur's birthplace. We had a walk to reach it, but when it came into view at the end of a steep-sided valley I was stunned.

It wasn't like my naive idea of Camelot, like a castle in a movie.

Bare stone ruins jutted like broken teeth from a steep windswept island a stone's throw from the shore. It wasn't difficult to imagine it in its heyday, majestic and imposing. The wind whipped white wisps of cloud across the blue sky and the rugged coast was bright and beautiful in the sun. The scene stole my breath.

We checked out the visitor centre, had a picnic in a sheltered spot, and spent the day scrambling over ruins and rocks, exploring caves and splashing in shallow sea water. Plenty of exercise with no time to dwell, just what I needed.

I was exhausted when we got back to the hotel. Dave suggested a shorter trip for the next day and I agreed.

…

I spent Monday in Ilfracombe, with its picturesque harbour nestled between wooded hills and houses painted in merry blues, pinks and greens. It was spring bank holiday, so the place was swarming with day-trippers and I was glad my telepathy was behaving itself. Even so, I was careful not to brush against anyone as I walked around the streets.

I found a café called Adele's. The name seemed prophetic and I went inside, pleased to find a cheerful bustling place serving cheap decent food. I picked a healthy sandwich to balance out all the cream teas and squeezed into a table by the window. As I ate I eavesdropped on the family behind me, whose kids were giggling and talking excitedly about the beach.

The staff were run off their feet. A sullen young woman was wiping tables briskly between customers. I sympathised; it was miserable to be the one working when everyone else was enjoying a holiday. Gazing out the window, I drifted off into thoughts of home and Gran. A noise disturbed me. The poor girl had dropped a fork. It skittered across the floor towards my chair, so I picked it up and held it out to her.

"Wait a second," she snapped, clattering the dishes she was carrying down on an empty table so she could restack them less precariously. A customer with a cut-glass accent asked for ketchup and she nodded tightly at him, muttering under her breath as she stomped off to fetch it.

When she came back, I said in a friendly tone, "It's sure busy today. You must be itching for a break."

She snorted. "Yeah. I bloody well am." Her scowl relaxed and she rubbed her face tiredly. "Look, sorry I snapped. I shouldn't be in today …"

She trailed off and I was surprised to see tears in her eyes. Hastily scrabbling in her apron for a tissue, she quickly wiped her face before picking up the pile of plates and moving towards me.

"Oh honey," I said kindly, "I was a waitress for years. I know it's tough."

She gave me a weak smile and said quietly, "Sorry about that. I … Well, I lost someone close a few days ago and I'm still a mess."

"Oh," I stuttered, taken aback by her confession, so at odds with the happy atmosphere. "Sorry to hear that," I mumbled as she reached for the fork. She stiffened as our fingers brushed, her furious thoughts hitting me like a punch to the gut.

_Sorry? You're not sorry. You didn't know my dad. I wish everybody would stop saying stupid meaningless shit._

She left, muttering a sharp 'thank you' that sounded as hurt as she felt.

I chided myself; I'd felt exactly the same when I lost Gran. Every clichéd condolence at her funeral was another barb, half-hearted words that insulted her memory and made me want to slap–

I stiffened, inhaling sharply.

"_Sorry to hear that."_

I'd trotted out that well-worn phrase recently. I wasn't the only one who reacted badly to it.

Eric.

My insipid reaction to Karin's death.

Oh Lord. A few days earlier I'd used the same phrase for Freyda. Freyda, the conniving witch I held in deep contempt. No wonder Eric had been offended when I'd used the same mechanical phrase for Karin, his vampire child. Probably the closest person to him after Pam.

How would I feel in his shoes, if I'd just lost Jason?

I rewound that conversation and saw it in a whole new light. I'd compounded the insult with a petty jab at him too, calling Karin just another blonde who could fight.

Pam. She hadn't meant to shut me out, talking about Karin, that painting. She was mourning her. Trying to show me Karin was more than the stereotype I'd reduced her to. Pam didn't wear her feelings on her face, but that didn't mean she didn't feel the loss deeply. Karin was dear to her, and Eric, part of their … family, I guessed, or the closest vamps got to one. If I hadn't been so caught up in my own drama...

I'd been appallingly rude to them both.

And Pam was my friend. A true friend deserved genuine condolences for the loss of family, not half-assed Hallmark phrases.

I wasn't proud of the way I'd laid into Pam that night either. It had been a slap upside the head to discover I needed round the clock guards, that my quiet life was a big fat fake. Reeling from that come-to-Jesus, I'd latched onto old issues with Eric and exploded. Pam got caught in the blast. The way she'd bowed her head...

I'd really hurt her. No wonder Eric had snapped. Pam was all he had left.

Sweet baby Jesus, these insights into what a crappy friend I was could just stop already. I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed woodenly, staring out the window blindly as I swallowed.

I had been defensive with Eric too. Protecting myself.

With half a world between us, it was safe to drop those defences and see him with clear eyes.

All the things he'd done when he left that made me so angry... Eric had been in an impossible situation. We both had. I might hate the way he'd chosen to handle it – if Sam had been Mr Right, 'passing me on' to him wouldn't raise my hackles so much – but Eric had been backed into a corner. He hadn't had a lot of options.

He'd done the best he could. He wasn't perfect, just like Gran. I could let the water wash my anger under that damn bridge.

Trust him like Pam wanted? Maybe.

With my safety, at least.

I had to admit, high-handedness aside, Eric had always had my safety in mind. Oh, I'd denied it in the past, accusing him of self-interest over the pledge. Out of irritation mainly. I'd never really nailed his butt over that, letting it lie despite feeling snowed. Perhaps he'd taken that as carte blanche to make decisions for me.

Still, I owed him.

I couldn't be anything but grateful for the guards who'd repeatedly saved my butt. I had protection from half a dozen royal vampires. Eric credited that to my bravery at Rhodes, but I doubted I'd have it without him.

He came to my house to give me his blood when he was severely injured, risking his very existence from Pam's reaction. Disgracefully, I hadn't even thanked him.

I needed to put that right when I got home.

...

My mood was sombre until I met up with Wynn and Dave that evening.

Wynn had invited me to a local village festival. Dave found us a good spot on a sidewalk overlooking the small sandy beach. Wynn nodded to a few people in the crowd around us, all nut-brown and small, all (I checked cautiously) unreadable to me. Just like Wynn, who grinned at me widely and announced, "Here they come, my lovey."

The throbbing drums got louder and the crowd buzzed with excitement as the strange parade came into view. It was chaotic and loud and vibrant. Like a very good-natured, family-orientated Mardi Gras. Minus the beads, nudity and drunkenness. And much smaller, cosier. I let myself get caught up in the atmosphere, blessing my tougher shields.

Dave explained the men in red were the king's redcoats; the guy backwards on the donkey was their prisoner, an Irish rebel. There was a lot of dancing and music as they acted out shooting him, but one of the players, the fool, brought him back to life. Then, dancing to a merry tune, the parade wound down onto the sand below us and the men in red acted out killing him again. And then, just to be sure, they threw him out to sea to catcalls and laughter.

Wynn was calling out excitedly next to me. I joined in, infected with the enthusiasm of the crowd around me. I was buzzed, buoyed up on a wave of strange energy.

On the way back, Wynn told me the re-enactment wasn't strictly accurate. If locals had hunted a man to his death four centuries ago, it wasn't the Earl of Tyrone, who'd escaped safely to Spain. Her accent thickened. "It be an older spring ritual, one these young'uns 'ave long forgot. Thrice killed, that be zummat older than iron."

Wynn's eye gleamed amber in the dusk, a sense of ancient intelligence and fierce glee pouring off her for a second.

Alone in bed, I wondered whether a good Christian should approve of a tradition that diminished the casual brutality of the past, made it safer with laughter. Tamed it.

Wynn's joyful wildness was something else. Whatever she was, I realised I would be sad to see that tamed.

…

On Tuesday Dave promised me the prettiest castle for miles. He brought his four-wheel drive and we took the scenic route over the moors, stopping for me to take pictures of wild ponies with thick coats and sturdy legs, ponies let loose to graze free on the windswept hills.

Hidden in a wooded valley, the castle was more intact than Tintagel, but then it was_ only five centuries old._

Eric's age would be a whole lot less impressive if I'd grown up here surrounded by ruins and ancient festivals.

Passing under the imposing arched gateway, I wandered into a ruined building. Despite the sunshine, it was chilly inside the roofless shell. I ran my hand along the cool stones, wondering who had used this dank basement in years gone by. In the far corner, I got the chills, feeling eyes on my back. No-one was there, but a sense of loneliness and despair enveloped me. I shivered and my breath puffed out as a white cloud.

Spooked, I shot out into the sun. Dave took one look at my face and cheerfully declared, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's haunted?" I squeaked.

"The White Lady walks these ruins," he said in a deep serious voice, then broke into a grin. "Starved to death by her sister in this very spot. Over a man," he added with a wink.

"It's not funny," I snapped.

His eyes widen. "You saw something?"

I looked back at the doorway and shivered. "I …felt something."

He shuffled his feet and mumbled apologetically. "Sorry, Sookie. I didn't know you had the sight. You okay?"

"Just peachy." I turned away, covering my unease. I'd never seen a ghost before. "What's over there?"

Thankfully, Dave dropped the subject and nothing else spectral made itself known the rest of the day. I had Dave stop for groceries on the way back. As my vacation was drawing to an end, I wanted to repay my hosts. I took over Wynn's kitchen and, as promised, treated them to some Southern home cooking.

Wynn's praise was particularly gratifying – she was a great cook herself – and Dave put away so much fried chicken that Wynn cackled he'd be laying eggs in the morning. He flushed beet red, but he made sure I gave Wynn the recipe.

…

Wednesday I spent in a bikini on a glorious beach, sand stretching for miles. I sunbathed lazily, watching surfers and reading my book. It was heaven.

Until one too many couples walked past me holding hands.

The last guy happened to be tall and blond, so Eric leapt to the front of my mind. Again. I sighed and put down my book to stare moodily at the sea.

Meeting Eric was awkward. I felt the loss of our closeness keenly. Seeing him comatose had shaken me and it had been a relief when his sickening injuries were healed.

I hesitated to attach a deeper meaning to those reactions. I'd duped myself into believing I loved Sam after I'd saved his life, I wouldn't repeat that mistake. Rushing to save Eric was just my nature, no more than I'd do for any friend. Obviously I had some lingering … affection for Eric, beyond simple leftover lust for an attractive man I'd known intimately. What exactly that meant was not clear, even with the join gone.

A flood of guilt washed over me. I was still married, I shouldn't be thinking about Eric that way. I winced, remembering the gossip flying round Bon Temps. No, definitely not about Eric.

It was irrelevant anyway.

That last confidence-boosting message he'd sent had a definite air of finality to it: _You're tough, you'll survive. Have a nice life. _Hardly flirtatious. Pam seemed sure he didn't plan to pursue me. That healer was sniffing round him like a bitch in heat, too.

He hadn't even wanted a blood connection to me – that stung, but that was only my wounded pride talking. Nothing more.

He wasn't interested, so why I was wasting a second thinking about … Oh. Could his blood be influencing me even after he severed the connection? I _had_ run straight to Fangtasia…

No, I'd gone to see Pam. I hadn't even known he was there.

I took a deep cleansing breath of salt air, and blew it out slowly. I'd jumped to enough conclusions about Eric. I wasn't going down that road again. I vowed to allow him a clean slate when I saw him again. Wipe the past away.

I spent the rest of the afternoon developing a nice healthy tan and building up an appetite for my first taste of 'fish and chips'. Best eaten out of the paper wrapping, sitting on the harbour wall, according to Dave, who turned out to be perfectly correct. It was delicious.

…

I hugged Wynn tightly and thanked her again for the calming 'tea' tucked away in my suitcase. Shushing me, she saw me into the car. I waved until she was out of sight. We were heading to London a day early because I had a stop planned on the way.

Stonehenge was an anti-climax. I got some good photos, but no-one was allowed to get close to the huge stones. Dave saw my disappointed pout and took me to Avebury instead. It was an odd place, a whole village built inside a stone circle.

Over four thousand years old. Bite that, Northman.

I was fascinated by the enormous ditch ringing the village and the natural, uncut shapes of the stones. I put my hand on one. It was gritty and warm from the sun. A faint hum rose up my arm and the strange vibration warmed me, just like my great-grandfather's kiss. I lifted my hand away slowly, frowning at the stone suspiciously. I rubbed the tingle from my fingers and Dave gave me a curious look.

I shrugged, dispelling my disquiet with a mundane task: shopping. I'd been racking my brain for a gift for Amelia and this was just the place to find one. I browsed the tourist shop, full of New Age crystals and dragon ornaments, and found something perfect for my witchy friend.

I bought Dave lunch as a final thank you for playing chauffeur, before we set off for a cheap airport hotel in London. Dave insisted on taking a room and escorting me to my flight the next morning. Niall's instructions he said, but I suspected it was Dave's idea. We'd developed an easy friendship over the week and I was going to miss him. He was a sweet, shy man. I sure hoped his wife appreciated him.

When we parted at security, I gave him a peck on the cheek and a long hug. He still blushed.

…

The taxiing plane drew my thoughts towards home. My stomach fluttered with eager excitement. I was at another crossroads, a turning point, and I just knew things would be different. Better.

I felt different.

The malign influence of the join was gone and talking to Wynn had exorcised a few monsters from my past. The trip had done me good in a more ordinary way, too. Seeing another part of the world and making new friends had given me confidence, broadened my horizons.

I felt good. Ready to take on the world.

Wynn's parting words rang in my head. "Live well and be merry." Good advice to live by. It brought to mind part of Eric's message: _Make your life your own_. That was good advice too.

I would take this opportunity to break with the past, to overcome the wounds from my childhood. I would build a new life, one that suited the new confident me. Not anyone else.

….

* * *

**Footnotes:**

1\. Sookie is staying in Lynmouth, North Devon, a beautiful area. Wynn is Cornish, apologies for mangling the accent.

2\. The Daphne du Maurier novel is Jamaica Inn, which still stands.

3\. There really is a café called Adele's in Ilfracombe. I couldn't pass that up!

4\. The village with the festival is Combe Martin and the castle is Berry Pomeroy. Not all that pretty as castles go, but it is haunted by a White Lady.

5\. The beach is Newquay, lovely place. And Avebury is my favourite stone circle, setting for the deeply scaring Children of the Stones, if anyone remembers that children's TV show from the 70s.


	2. Homecoming

**A/N: **Hi everybody. Thanks for all the favourite and follows, and thanks to those guest reviewers who I can't reply to directly - I appreciate your reviews too.

* * *

**Homecoming**

* * *

As the car turned onto Hummingbird Road, I opened the window and sucked in a lungful of air. Hot and heavy, it tasted of home. Margaret Pickard winked at me in the mirror as she drove and Jack Norris turned to grin at me from the passenger seat.

"Good to smell home, ain't it?" he said.

"It sure is," I replied with a small smile.

I turned back to the window, looking for anything that had changed while I was gone. Nope, comfortingly the road was exactly the same. Still in need of resurfacing.

The comfortable Lexus Pam had sent to meet me in Dallas was a blessing after the long flight from England. I was pleased with the company too. I'd met Jack and Margaret a time or two so they weren't strangers. I'd gotten to know them better on the long drive, well enough to ask if they'd been paid while I was away. It relieved my conscience to hear they hadn't suffered financially. They were on some sort of retainer from Pam and had both found temporary work while I was gone – mall security over in Shreveport. Jack said it was real boring. Margaret had laughed at him and said, "Try the army, boy. That's all hurry up and wait."

I got the impression Margaret had taken young Jack under her wing. Turned out he'd only been guarding me because his uncle – a second cousin or half-cousin of Calvin's, Hotshot families were complicated – had got himself into a fight, broken a leg. Jack had been a last minute substitute, at a loose end after he'd lost a job at Norcross, the latest employer he'd fallen out with in a line long for his tender years.

"Don't worry, the packmaster kept an eye on him," Margaret had said as we cruised along the I20 towards Louisiana, nudging him with a smile on her lips. "Brought him a bagged lunch from his momma almost every day."

I reckoned that was how Calvin found out I'd been hurt and took it upon himself to call Sam back from Texas.

"I'm no momma's boy," Jack had muttered, turning to give me an earnest look. "Don't worry, Miss Stackhouse. I won't mess up this time. I like your woods. I hated bein' stuck in that damn mall."

Margaret had added, "Indoor jobs don't work out so well for some of our youngsters."

I'd nodded, indicating I understood the twoey need for space to roam.

As we turned off Hummingbird and onto my familiar gravel drive, my heart lifted. When the house came into view I gasped. Two blond figures waved and hollered excitedly from the front porch, under a large 'Welcome Home' banner. Jason and Junior. The front door opened and Michele waddled out awkwardly, her belly swollen with my niece.

I was out of the car before it pulled to a halt and up onto the porch before I could blink, where I was enveloped in warm embraces and noisy questions. Once the clamour died down, Jason bounded down the steps to take my bags from Jack, who was standing there rubbing his neck uncertainly, reluctant to interrupt our reunion. With Junior still in my arms, I called a thank-you to him and Margaret. They waved it off. Jack flashed me a big grin as he got back in the car.

As the Lexus pulled away, I turned back to my little family and the smell of home-cooking hit me. Michele smiled warmly. "It's great to have you home, girl. Dinner's just about ready."

She waved off my protests that she shouldn't have gone to so much trouble and went back inside to tend the stove. I wiped away a grateful tear, deeply touched by the warm welcome and that Michele had cooked for me in her condition.

Junior insisted he was 'gwowned-up' enough to help Jason carry my bags in. I felt a rush of warmth for him as he wrestled mightily with my carry-on bag, dragging it down the hallway. His determination was adorable. Jason grinned and shook his head at him, giving me another tight hug before he went after him.

Alone for a second, I stood on the threshold drinking in the familiar sights and smells of the house. A deep sense of contentment settled right down to my bones, as if the house itself had wrapped around me, sheltering me from the elements like a familiar winter coat.

I was home.

…

Dinner was noisy, cheerful and delicious. I talked until I was hoarse, eagerly sharing my travel stories. When I paused for breath, Jason or Michele filled the gaps with snippets of Bon Temps gossip: how the football team played this season, who'd gotten married, divorced, given birth or been caught stealing from the Grab-It-Kwik.

Afterwards, like any Aunt fresh from vacation, I gave out presents. A big box of clotted cream fudge for all of them (a local treat that Junior particularly appreciated, soon smeared around his mouth), a pirate outfit complete with eye-patch and wooden cutlass (Junior paraded the living room proudly in it, revelling in the attention much as Jason had done as a kid), a couple of souvenir t-shirts and shot glasses for mom and pop, and a sample of local beers that Dave had recommended for Jason. Those I'd been worried about bring through the airport, but I'd had no problems.

After the third yawn that threatened to unhinge my yaw, Michele herded them both out the door. I stumbled tiredly through a fast shower and fell into my freshly made bed, blessing Michele's efficiency. Sleep took me quickly and if I dreamt it was of smiling faces and good company.

I was up early the next morning, a Saturday. Driven by nerves, I had my case unpacked and a load of laundry finished before nine. I had to see Sam, before word got round I was back, and I had no idea what I'd face.

Neither Jason nor Michele had mentioned Sam the night before. Even when Michele noticed my rings were gone as I ate, she didn't pass comment. I'd avoided the subject myself, unwilling to spoil our happy evening, but now I wished I'd raised it.

I wavered on what to wear, eventually settling on relaxed and comfortable – a pair of well-cut jeans and a smart but not too dressy blue blouse that flattered my eyes. My car started first time. I mentally thanked Jason for keeping it running and drove the familiar route to Merlotte's.

I parked out front, not sure whether I still had back lot privileges. The lot was empty; I'd deliberately arrived before opening time, wanting few witnesses. I could see movement behind the windows. Someone was inside, setting up. Perfect. If it wasn't Sam himself, Kennedy or Terry would know where to find him.

I took some deep breaths before I got out of the car. My luck held. The entrance was already unlocked. The familiar smell of stale beer and last night's food greeted me as I stepped inside. I looked over to the bar and stopped dead, as if I'd stumbled on a cottonmouth.

Sam.

He looked up at the sound of the door with a frown and froze in the middle of wiping down the counter. Penny stopped filling salt cellars and turned to see who'd come in. She gasped, her head swinging back and forth between the two of us comically for a second. Then she squeaked something rushed and shot off down the back corridor like her shoes were on fire, leaving us alone.

The uncomfortable moment broken, Sam glanced down at the cloth in his hand and resumed his steady movements. Outwardly calm, he had closed his mind to me after an initial flare of shock and surprise.

I moved cautiously towards the bar, stopping a few feet away. He was wearing jeans and one of his favourite plaid shirts. His expression was carefully neutral.

Smiling tentatively, I said quietly, "Hi."

His hand tensed around the cloth briefly, but he asked casually enough, "You back then?"

"Yes." To make it clear I'd come as soon as I could I added, "Just last night."

He nodded. I couldn't read him at all. Was he still angry? We looked at each other for a minute, him tightly controlled and me uncertain how to proceed. I guessed it was up to me to start the conversation we needed to have. I squared my shoulders.

"How have you been, Sam?"

Irritation flickered in his eyes and I realised my tone had been too sympathetic. "Fine," he said shortly.

I opened my mouth a few times, trying to hit on the right beginning, something impersonal. "The bar looks good. How's business?"

He gave me a long look and I struggled with a temptation to fill the silence with nervous rambling. After a minute, he said mildly, "Things were tight over the winter."

I cringed. That was my fault. "Of course. I left you short-handed. I'm sorry." He seemed to be waiting for more of an explanation, so I added lamely, "I left in a hurry."

There was a definite note of disapproval in his tone when he spoke. "Uh-huh. Must've been a real rush if you couldn't spare the time to say good-bye."

Chastened by the hurt in his eyes, I swallowed and looked at my shoes. "I'm sorry Sam, I just … I thought it would be easier."

There was another awkward silence. I hated that we couldn't seem to avoid falling into them. Then he sighed. "It probably was," he said quietly.

I looked up, startled by his resigned tone, but he was looking down at his hands where they rested on the bar. "Well, it's all over now," I said thoughtlessly, and then winced at my poor wording. "I mean, everything's back to normal, right?"

"Normal for Bon Temps, I guess." He gave me about quarter of a grin that faded rapidly. "If you're asking if it worked, Ludwig says I'm free of it."

I tried to sound upbeat. "You're back to yourself. That's great, Sam."

"I guess." He dragged his hand through his short hair and set his jaw. He was determined about something. "Sookie. You didn't have to go all that way alone. I would have come with you."

"That's real nice of you Sam, but it was something I had to do by myself." The powerful woman – being? – who'd removed the join only granted me an audience because of my connection to Niall. She wasn't the sort to look kindly on an uninvited plus one.

"But you didn't _have_ to Sookie," he said sharply. "I would have come."

I gave him a meaningful look. "You couldn't go where I was going."

He frowned. "Oh." He wiped the counter a few times, considering that news. "Was it …difficult?"

I was carried back to the smell of rot, cold dark water chilling me to my core. Sam reached out towards me, alarmed at whatever he saw on my face. The movement was enough to shake me out of the memory and he dropped his hand, forehead wrinkling in concern. I pulled together an answer.

"It wasn't easy, no." He didn't need the details. "But I came through it unscathed, see?" I gestured to myself.

Unconvinced he checked me over. His face relaxed, but he was still less than happy. "Well, thank you, I guess." He sounded pained to say it. "Even though I didn't ask you to do it. I would never expect you to put yourself in harm's way for me, Sookie."

"Sam," I admonished softly, reaching over to lay my hand on his. "You know I'd do anything to put things right between us."

His blue eyes held mine for a slow lazy beat, hope beginning to shine in them before he answered just as softly, "Really, Cher?"

I realised he'd misinterpreted me and began scrambling for the right words to dim that hope without crushing him. In the pause, he glanced down at our hands and stiffened.

My left hand. My empty ring finger. Damn. Before I could explain what had happened to my rings, he pulled his hand away. Grabbing the cloth, he turned to the shelves behind the bar and began briskly dusting the liquor bottles.

Reflected in the mirror behind them, his face was set, heavy with resignation that deepened the lines across his forehead and around his mouth. It … aged him. It struck me that the grey threading his hair at the temples was more prominent than when I left, but that had to be a trick of the lighting. It had only been six months.

I longed to hug him suddenly, but that would be the worst thing I could do.

"Sam?" I asked tentatively. "You okay?"

The set of his shoulders tightened. "I'm fine," he muttered. "It's not like I really expected…"

He sighed again and his shoulders slumped. He made an effort to slow his hands in their task, his movements switching from agitated to calming. Once he'd collected himself, he glanced over his shoulder and in a fairly even voice asked, "So, what are your plans? Any idea what you're going to do for work?"

"I haven't really thought." I looked around the bar, wondering if he needed me for this shift. Oh. Wait. I said slowly, "I guess … I guess it would be better if I didn't work here?"

He shot me a look in the mirror. "Yeah, I think that would be for the best."

"Yes. Of course." A trickle of panic ran down my spine. I'd worked at Merlotte's for almost ten years and didn't know much else. I'd be okay financially for a while, though. Maybe I should look at those college courses again.

Sam turned around, running the cloth over the bottle in his hand slowly. "Norcross is hiring and there's bound to be a store needing someone in town. Or a diner wanting a waitress."

I bit back the urge to say I could do better than that. He was trying to help. "Sure, I'll look around." I changed the subject. "So, did I miss anything exciting while I've been gone?"

He looked away. "Things have been quiet."

"Uh-huh." He was hiding something. I asked casually, "You haven't had any trouble? The sort those guys in my woods deal with?"

"Nope. Like I said it's been quiet." He hesitated for a second, but finally added, "Eric's still around."

Confused by the oddly kind expression Sam wore, out of habit I brushed against his mind without intending to. I pulled back quickly. The vivid image of Eric striding into the bar had me half turning towards the door, as if he was likely to be marching in right then, in broad daylight.

Flustered that Sam had seen my absurd reaction, I blurted out, "Here? He's been here?"

Sam grimaced, working out I'd picked something out of his head, but he refrained from commenting on the intrusion. "He stopped by a couple times, yes."

My eyes narrowed and I asked sharply, "Why? Has he been causing you trouble?"

Sam dropped his eyes to the bottle he was still absent-mindedly dusting. "No. No, he's been … decent, considering."

I opened my mouth to say I highly doubted that and to ask considering what exactly, but just then a breezy female voice floated in from the back corridor, calling his name.

"Sam? You there? Are you free to...?" The voice trailed off as its owner came into the bar and saw me.

She was a smartly dressed woman in her early thirties, with an athletic build and a healthy tan. She was pretty, with an open face and pleasant colouring, warm hazel eyes complementing her auburn hair. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't realise the bar was already open."

Sam finally stopped pretending to dust and put the bottle down to introduce us. "Steph, this is my wi– Sookie. Sookie, this is Stephanie Burrows."

Stephanie's eyes widened. "Oh. Sookie. Pleased to meet you at last."

She took a step forward and held out her hand, shooting Sam a glance. She had a firm grip and a hard warning blazed in her pretty eyes. She was protective, very protective of Sam. I got that clearly from her snarly mind. Pieces clicked into place and I did my best to keep my face fixed in a smile even as I pulled my hand away like I'd been burnt. She bristled and I realised I hadn't replied, which was unpardonably rude.

"It's nice to meet you too, Stephanie," I said in my politest voice, keeping my shock hidden.

She shot another glance at Sam. "I'll leave you to it, then. The figures are on your desk, Sam."

"That's great, Cher. Thanks for all your help."

Cher? I snuffed out a flare of jealousy with a stern attempt at rational thought.

I'd been gone for six months. I'd given Sam my blessing to move on in the good-bye letter I wrote. I could hardly complain that he'd found someone to replace me as bookkeeper and possibly in ... other areas.

Cattily, I wondered how she'd feel if she knew that not two minutes before she showed up with her pretty face and her sleek haircut, Sam had jumped at the chance to start over with me.

Stephanie looked me over one last time before turning on her heel and leaving the way she came. I watched her go, wondering if she was the reason Jason and Michele had been cagey about mentioning Sam to me.

Sam cleared his throat. "There's been a few changes around here, Sook."

"So I see," I said drily. I turned back to him and said briskly, "It's okay, Sam. You don't owe me an explanation."

"It's not like that, Sook. She's just a colleague."

Colleague, not employee? Not that I was burning to ask or biting back something sharp and corrosive about him moving on so fast. No sirree.

I reminded myself again that he'd had a whole six months to get over me. Whereas I was obviously still stuck in the raw stage of our break-up.

"It's really none of my business, Sam."

"But it is. You still own a third of this place." He gestured to our surroundings, but his expression clouded. "I guess you'll want out of that, though."

Oh. If he wasn't comfortable with me working here, it was going to be mighty awkward running the bar together. It was probably better to end my short career as a business owner. I sighed. "That's going to be complicated, isn't it?"

He shrugged and tried to joke. "I'll have my lawyer call your lawyer."

I winced. He reached out and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

"I'm real sorry about all this, Sam."

"I know. It's what you want though, isn't it? A divorce?" He studied my face.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Yes. I think that would be for the best."

He searched my eyes for another few seconds and then nodded. "Okay, Sook. You should call Mr Cataliades today, get the ball rolling. No point dragging it out."

"No, I guess not." Both our voices were filled with regret.

He gave a lopsided grin. "Easier to mend a clean break. Quick and clean."

I nodded. "Yeah. Quick and clean."

Then perhaps our friendship would heal.

…

I sat on the porch drinking some of Wynn's tea, recovering from the tense conversation. It had been emotional facing Sam, and I was a little wrung out. But the worst was over and seeing him actually hadn't been that bad. I wasn't going to mope over the attractive bookkeeper or whatever the hell else she was to him.

Tea finished, I headed off to Wal-Mart, got all my vacation pictures printed out and picked out a pair of pretty albums for them. Waiting at the register, I got a sharp glance or two from the young cashier. I didn't recognise her. Curious, I dipped into her head: … _that poor man, she just up and left him... _

I stiffened and smiled tensely as I paid.

I walked quickly away, kicking myself for prying. I expected some criticism, and for every red-blooded single woman in Bon Temps to cluck over Sam sympathetically, but I just wasn't quite ready to hear it. My time overseas, where no-one knew who I was, had relaxed me a little too much.

I swung by the library on the way home. I picked up a stack of new books and was very careful not to read Barbara Beck's thoughts at the desk. I chose to believe that her pursed lips were down to her reliving unpleasant memories of the time she was held at knife point in front of me, right there in the library. By a guy after me, as it happened, so she was entitled not to think too fondly of me.

Barbara made overly-polite but stilted small talk about my choices as she checked out my books. When I carelessly mentioned that I'd picked out the Daphne de Maurier novel because I'd recently visited the inn in the title, the sharp disapproval in her eyes and the set of her mouth revealed her opinion of me with no need to resort to telepathy.

I was a selfish bitch who deserted my husband to live it up in Europe for six months.

I guessed telling the Sheriff where I was going before I left was as good as taking out a full page advert in the Shreveport Times.

…

I spent the afternoon finishing off my laundry and sunbathing in the back yard while it dried on the line. Michele, bless her, had stocked up on groceries and the house was spotless, so there was little else for me to do. Jason had even kept up with the weeding. At least I hoped it was Jason, not his heavily pregnant wife.

Eventually, the jet-lag caught up with me and I fell asleep in the sun. I woke later, groggy and with a stiff neck. The sky had clouded over and I was a little chilled. I warmed up by fetching the dry laundry inside, sorting and folding and putting it all away.

Sometime later, after I'd eaten a light dinner of Michele's leftovers and settled in the front room with a book, the bell by the front porch steps rang. The bell Sam had hung, I remembered sadly as I put my book down. I reached out mentally before I got to the door and frowned when I sensed a void.

It was too early for Pam, barely quarter of an hour after sunset.

I expected Thalia or one of the vampire guards she'd introduced before I left. So when I checked the peep-hole, I was surprised to see Bill Compton standing at the bottom of my steps. I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, still within the ward.

"Bill, this is a surprise. I haven't seen you in a coon's age. Is everything okay?"

He smiled, his face pale and luminescent in the shadows at the edge of the porch light, and spoke in that smooth deep voice. "Good evening, Sookie. Nothing is amiss. I saw your lights and came to welcome you home."

"Oh, that's mighty neighbourly of you, Bill." I moved to the front of the porch and leant against the railing, trying not to notice how handsome he looked tonight, in khakis and a dark polo, his dark hair brushed and gleaming. "How've you been?"

He turned towards me, his dark eyes glittering in the warm light spilling from the window. "I'm well, thank you. I hear you took a trip to Europe. Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, very much. I spent some time in England, in the southwest. Have you been there?"

"No, not England. Travelling that distance has been rather … awkward in the past. I did visit Rome briefly, two years ago, but sadly for me that was a business trip and I did not have time to see the sights."

"Oh. That's a real shame." I began to wonder what Bill wanted. He hadn't called by the house for years. Certainly not just to chat. Lately we hadn't chatted even when we met at Merlotte's or around Bon Temps. Maybe he was a little lonely? I didn't think he'd had a special someone since Karin. I hadn't heard Danny mention any regular visitors to the Compton house.

"Yes, I would have liked to see some of the architecture." His dark eyes didn't leave my face for a moment. "I was sorry to hear that Sam moved out."

I shifted uneasily. "These things happen, Bill." I didn't really want to go into details, not with an ex. It was disrespectful to Sam.

"Yes. But I thought …" His voice softened. "I had hoped that you would be happy together."

"Well, like I said, these things happen." There was a hint of annoyance in my tone. I changed the subject decisively. "How's the house? I heard you had contractors in a few months back." Jason had mentioned it in passing.

Bill blinked, which was the vampire equivalent of shocked. He hadn't expected me to know that. "Yes. Some repair work. Nothing serious."

"Glad to hear it." Hmm. That seemed a little evasive, but what Bill did with his property was none of my business. I took a deep breath of the warm night air.

Bill turned to look at the woods. "It's a lovely night tonight. In fact I was out enjoying a stroll when I noticed your lights." He sounded a little wistful and I remembered a particularly pleasant walk we'd shared on another moonlit night, at a more innocent point in our relationship.

"Yes, it is lovely tonight." There was a touch of nostalgia in my voice, too.

"Would you care to join me?" He glanced up at me, his face neutral.

I hesitated and in that second Bill stiffened. Confused, I frowned at him and then looked up when I caught the glow of headlights flickering between the trees. A car was coming down the drive.

"You seem to have a visitor." Knowing Bill as well as I did, the tense line of his jaw betrayed his irritation with the interruption, even though his words were calm.

'So I do."

We watched the station wagon pull up. Kennedy emerged from it and cast a confused look at Bill. Then she beamed at me.

Bill turned to me and gave a deep nod. "I will leave you to your guest. Goodnight, Sookie."

"Goodnight Bill."

Kennedy gave him another strange look as they passed on the gravel, as I muttered a hasty invitation under my breath. Then she bounded up the stairs and hugged me. "Sookie! You're back!"

"Hey, let a girl breathe Kennedy!" Her thoughts were a rush of relief and warmth.

She laughed as she let me go. "Sorry, Sook. Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes." She looked me up and down, narrowing her eyes. She wagged her finger at me. "You look well. Shame I just got a manicure or you'd get a whooping for leaving without a word!"

"Oh Lord, Kennedy I didn't mean–"

"Hush girl. I'm not angry. You did what you had to. Now what's a girl gotta do to get a cold drink around here?" She grinned at me.

I grinned back. "Come inside, Kennedy."

We sat at the kitchen table with some iced tea and I grabbed a stack of photos to show her. We laughed at my bad camera work and shared gossip. Penny had gotten herself a new beau. A guy from Clarice almost as shy as she was, Kennedy said, but they were sweet together.

After we ran out of idle chatter, she asked cautiously where I stood with Sam. I was glad I had some warning of the question from her face and I grazed her thoughts to check that I sounded appropriately regretful but composed as I told her we were done apart from the divorce papers.

She'd expected that and squeezed my arm in sympathy. She changed the subject fast, telling me about Terry's latest litter of puppies. I was relieved; she understood I didn't want to dwell on it.

When I asked how the bar had been, Kennedy looked a little uncomfortable.

"Well, things were rough over the winter, of course. Sam made some changes and that ruffled a few feathers. You know how folks get."

"Uh-huh. I met the new bookkeeper this morning."

"Oh, Steph's been a big help to Sam. She's a godsend." She paused, surprised by my doubtful expression. Then her eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, there's nothing going on there, Sookie. They're just friends. Sam … well, let's just say he's not ready to move on." _He needs closure before he can do that and he couldn't get that while you were away._

I wasn't convinced, having felt Stephanie's reaction to me, but Kennedy believed what she was saying so I let it go.

She toyed with her cup for a minute and then looked up with a sly expression. "I was surprised to see Bill here, though. Apart from visiting the Bellefleurs now and then, Danny said he mostly keeps to himself around Bon Temps these days."

"Yeah. He hasn't come to the house for years." About three, in fact. Since he found out I was marrying Sam.

Kennedy gave me her best innocent look, batting her eyelashes. "Well, I reckon he wasn't borrowing a cup of sugar."

"No," I said slowly. "I don't know what that was all about."

Kennedy snorted.

"What?"

"Honey. An ex comes a-calling the minute the husband moves out. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Oh." I didn't know how to respond to that, having assumed that Bill had moved on after he got all cosy with Karin and then dropped out of my life. I was simultaneously uneasy and flattered that he might still think of me that way.

Kennedy stayed for a while longer. After she left, I stood at the sink staring out at the dark woods thoughtfully. I'd picked up a few things from her that she hadn't said out loud. The bar had been in some trouble, but I couldn't make sense of it. Kennedy had been trying not to think about it, not wanting to make me feel guilty. I'd caught a glimpse of Terry in a state, stressed out. The cook, Marcel, quitting in a tantrum. And Kennedy's sheer relief when Stephanie arrived.

I sighed. That was a problem to think on tomorrow. I had another to solve in the next hour, before the vampire I _was_ expecting arrived.

Pam rolled up at ten sharp, dressed in a black business suit that said 'don't mess with me', combined with a soft pink silk camisole and heels that said 'I'm so scary I can be feminine and you still won't dare mess with me'. I was envious of her ability to pull that off.

If her theory held – that clothes revealed to the world and his wife what the wearer subconsciously projected – I suspected that my worn jeans and ratty t-shirt screamed jobless, soon-to-be husbandless and clueless about where my life was heading.

I showed Pam into the living room and warmed a blood for her. When I joined her, she'd kicked off her shoes, her jacket hung on the couch and she'd taken her hair out of its neat French plait. I was secretly pleased that she felt at ease with me, enough to take off her costume and be herself.

She took the blood and sipped it politely before setting it down. She eyed me speculatively. "You look well. I take it your trip was a success and the fairy magic is gone."

"Yep. Everything's fine and dandy."

"And your marriage?"

Her silent mind and smooth expression gave no warning of the blunt question. I caught my face before it fell all the way to dismayed and held my voice steady with an effort. "We're divorcing."

"Ah. I see." I kicked myself for showing my vulnerability, but then Pam did something unexpected. She patted my hand. "I am sorry that it distresses you, my friend. But it is what you want?"

"Yes, it is. Thanks, Pam." I was touched. A pat on the arm from Pam was as supportive a gesture as sharing a tub of ice-cream and an evening of weepy chic flicks from a human girlfriend. Thinking about the divorce, I recalled the strange supe rules about spouses. "Um, will being single cause any problems with my protection?"

She shrugged. "It will be easier for me. I prefer to deal with you directly, not the shifter. Can Amelia remove him from the wards or do they need to be re-done?"

"Oh. I'll ask her and let you know." I made a note to call my witchy friend soon. Anticipating that would be an uncomfortable conversation, I remembered another awkward social duty: my intention to thank Eric for saving my life. Multiple times.

Feeling slightly guilty I said, "Thank you for keeping me safe, Pam. I really do appreciate it."

She shrugged. "No biggie, as they say."

"I really need to thank Eric, too. Where is he tonight?"

"Indiana."

"Oh." I'd have to write a note. So much for steeling myself to say thank-you in person.

Of course, there was no reason to assume he would still be in Louisiana.

Pam was running Area 5 and even if she wasn't I suspected the last place Eric wanted to be was back under de Castro's thumb. Eric had once told me he didn't enjoy being overseen, and de Castro had certainly kept a watchful eye on him.

Eric wasn't cut out to be a run-of-the-mill vampire, either. I couldn't see him staying in Shreveport as an underling.

If he wanted a position with some power, another sheriff post perhaps, he'd have to move. Indiana was probably as good a choice as any. Bartlett Crowe seemed reasonable from my limited interactions with him. As far as vampire kings did reasonable, anyway. Was there a civilised waiting list for sheriff posts or was it finally-dead-man's boots? I didn't know.

Then I remembered something. "Sam said Eric dropped by the bar."

"Yes. A while ago. March sometime, I think. Rory mentioned it."

I tried not to look too interested. "She's still around?"

"Yes. Actually, she's been quite … useful," Pam admitted grudgingly. "She even agreed to go to Indiana with him."

Oh. He'd taken her with him? That was … unexpected.

Pam carried on before I could think about that too hard. "So, what do you want to do about your guards?"

I sighed. "What I really want is not to need them. But as I do, I want to be involved. I want to know what's going on and have a say in it. And I don't want to be beholden to anyone, Pam. Not even you. I would like to take over paying for them, but I'm not real sure of my finances. Not until everything's sorted out with Sam."

She narrowed her eyes. "Sookie, this is a considerable expense. Eric will not expect you to bear it."

I stiffened, my pride bristling. "Pam. I'm real grateful to Eric for setting all this up, but it's not his responsibility."

"Actually, it–"

"No," I said firmly. Eric – who'd moved to another state, moved there with another woman apparently – was suddenly the last person I wanted to owe for this. "There's nothing between us and no need for him to be involved. He's done enough."

"Sookie. He is well placed to protect you from our kind. It would be foolish not to accept his help."

I gave her a level look. "Pam. I hardly need his help with all those royal decrees." If they were worth the fancy parchment they were written on, that was.

She frowned – well, a tiny crease formed on the bridge of her nose, which was tantamount to a scowl for Pam – and opened her mouth to argue.

Claudine's warning that Rhodes would draw me further into the undead world came to me and I ploughed on with my reasoning before she could speak. "It isn't Eric's problem. _I_ chose to go to the summit with Sophie Ann. _I_ crawled through the rubble in front of the cameras saving y'all. That was what drew every fanged Tom, Dick and Dracula's attention to me. My choices, my actions. Not Eric's."

Pam shook her head. "Not all of the things that drew unwelcome attention were your doing. Eric bonded and pledged to you. His interest in you is widely known. He will argue you are still a target because of him. At least in part."

"Pfft. That's old news." I waved dismissively. Moving to Indiana certainly showed he had no ties holding him here. I wondered darkly how quickly Sam would move on, if he hadn't already.

"Vampires have long memories."

Putting aside my speculations on the inconstancy of men, I changed tack.

"Well, vamps aren't the only jackasses out there who want to hurt me, are they? I don't see how Eric can argue that all the others are anything to do with him." I ticked them off on my fingers for her. "The fairies want to use me to get at Niall. Those Weres who tried to kidnap me bear me a grudge because I helped Longtooth out. And the Chosen came after me while I had no contact with any of y'all. They targeted me because I married Sam. Not one of those is Eric's responsibility."

Pam sat back, thinking. "Hmm. You make a good case. He might just accept that."

"He'll have to, won't he?"

Pam raised an eyebrow at me.

"Well," I said slowly, "You said Sam had to give permission for the guards to come onto the land here. It'll be my land again once the divorce is done. You'll need my permission."

"You'd refuse your own guards just to win an argument?" Pam chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Sookie. You really are my favourite breather."

When my stubbornness stopped amusing her, we got down to it and hammered out a compromise that wouldn't bankrupt me. Each month I would pay as much as I could into the pot for the day guards. Pam would make up the difference, pay for equipment, sundry extras, the vampire guards and Diantha if she was needed. I agreed to that more readily once Pam pointed out that she could order the vamps to guard me for free and Diantha had volunteered her time in the past.

Pam or Thalia would keep me updated once a week, and I'd give them a head's up if I planned any out of state trips. I was a little put out to discover they'd been tracking my car and phone electronically.

Pam pointed out that it actually made the guards less intrusive if they could follow me without needing a detailed itinerary of every minute of my day, and the electronic tracking was partly why I hadn't noticed them in the last couple years.

I grumbled, "That was only because that damn sneaky witch helped you hide their minds from me."

Pam snickered at my irritation. I didn't find being hoodwinked so amusing.

"I'll draw up some official paperwork for the money side of it all," Pam said. Then her phone rang. She looked at the screen and grimaced. "Sorry, I have to take this."

She blurred out into the hallway and I tried not to listen to her pacing or her clipped answers. It sounded like trouble. She came back a moment later, clearly annoyed. She pulled on her jacket and slipped on her heels. "Fucking Saturday nights. Sookie, I have to go. I'll be in touch."

"Sure, Pam. Thanks for coming out here tonight."

She nodded and left in a blur. I let out the yawn I'd been holding in and stretched lazily. The jet-lag was still messing with me, so even though it was barely eleven I shut up the house and turned in for the night feeling somewhat more in control of my life.

...


	3. Welcome Wagon

**A/N:** Hi all - thanks for all the reviews and comments everybody. They make my day! Another Friday, another chapter.

* * *

**Welcome Wagon**

* * *

I slipped into the back of the church right as the service started, drawing as little attention to myself as possible.

I had missed attending church while I was on 'vacation'. I was determined to reconnect with my faith, but I knew my reappearance in Bon Temps would cause a stir. From the reactions at Walmart and the library, folks would be surprised and judgemental. I couldn't blame them, from the outside it sure seemed like I had run out on Sam. I steeled myself to weather the initial shit-storm, confident that it would blow itself out after a few days.

I concentrated on the sermon and let it ground me. Eric's blood was reinforcing my shields by an unprecedented amount. Had I crossed some sort of line with vamp blood and amped up my telepathy to a whole new level? I wasn't sure how to feel about that until the service ended and folks began to move.

A few pairs of eyes widened in recognition, a few heads turned. Then the dam broke. Whispers began to whip through the congregation like a rain storm lashing a tin roof.

Suddenly I was extremely thankful I could only hear what was being said aloud.

I held my head high and made my way over to the Reverend, who was shaking hands by the door. Outwardly he was pleased to see me, grasping my hand warmly when it was my turn. Unfortunately, touch short-circuited even the strongest mental shields and a wash of his disappointment and censure rolled over me.

I pulled back abruptly, covering with a crazy grin, but he noticed. Stiffly, he welcomed me back to the parish and turned immediately to the next person in line.

Kicking myself, I stepped out into the sunshine. Being taken unawares was a disadvantage of stronger shields, but I should have anticipated his reaction. He'd married me and Sam a few short years ago; he was bound to be dismayed that our marriage had faltered so soon.

Sighing, I headed off to the side, where the crowd gathering outside was thinner. Halleigh Bellefleur smiled at me, but made no move to come over. Andy glanced at me from her side and then steered her over to talk to one of the Sunday school teachers. Predictably, Maxine's stage whisper carried from where she stood talking animatedly to two of her buddies, but thankfully I couldn't make out her words. A few sharp looks my way made it clear enough that I was her subject.

A few minutes alone feeling like ant under a magnifying glass and I was about ready to call it quits. Then Holly Fortenberry came right over, bold as brass.

She'd toned down her appearance since she married. Her hair was back to its natural brown these days, not the harsh bottle black of her rebellious youth. Being a Wiccan, she only came to church to support Hoyt or, in other words, to shield him from Maxine's nagging tongue.

Holly was scowling, but her face brightened as she reached me. "Hey, Sookie. How are you?"

"Hi Holly. I'm good, how are you?"

"Oh, just fine. You sure look good, but if I was in your shoes I'd be madder than a wet hen." She snorted. "Some welcome home, huh?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I didn't expect it to be quite this bad." I eyed Maxine's enthusiastic gestures. "I'll understand if y'all don't want to be seen talking to me."

She saw who I was looking at and shrugged. "Makes no difference. Her tongue's always been loose at both ends."

I almost smiled. "I wouldn't want you to catch a lashing from it on my account."

She smirked. "Oh, she can't touch me. Hoyt's been real protective, gave her a tongue lashing himself last time she started in on me." At my confusion, she turned side on to me, tugging her dress tight.

"Oh!" She was pregnant, barely showing yet. I plastered on another tight smile and congratulated her.

We chatted for a good while about nothing in particular and a few other souls found the courage or curiosity to come over to greet me. Eventually folks began drifting home, making it harder to ignore one particular congregation member who'd been persistently glaring at me from the other side of the crowd. Holly noticed too and made to stay, but I shooed her over to Hoyt, who gave me a friendly wave as they left with Maxine.

I turned to face the one friend who hadn't come over to welcome me home.

Arms crossed defiantly, Tara looked about ready to spit tacks. JB fidgeted anxiously next to her, until she snapped at him and he took the twins over to the play area, casting a sheepish smile of apology in my direction.

I waited for her to come to me.

And while I waited, I read her mind.

She opened her mouth to speak but I held up my hand.

"First, I'm sorry I slapped you. Second, I swear I'll never tell JB." Her eyes widened, and then narrowed as she grasped what I'd done. "Third, you were right. I was judging you six ways to Sunday in my head and I thought that was okay because you couldn't hear it. But you know what? You judge me just as harshly, Tara Thornton. And I can hear it, every nasty bit of it. I didn't cheat on Sam. I didn't throw him out. He chose to move out, because he was devastated after he hurt me. And I don't mean with that stupid kiss. He lost his temper and laid hands on me, Tara. That's why him and Jason were brawling. That's why Kenya kept Sam in jail overnight. Out of concern for me."

Her jaw fell, slack. I waited and listened while her mind scrambled to absorb that bombshell.

She'd confronted Jason about the fight after I left – I saw that amongst her jumbled thoughts. Tara tore strips off him for causing trouble and refused to listen to anything he said. Not that he'd said much before Michele intervened and sent Tara packing. Tara hadn't spoken to either of them since, so she had no idea why Jason was pissed at Sam. Sam might have told her, but for some reason I didn't see hide nor hair of him in her mind.

I waited for her to formulate a response. What she said next would determine whether we could still be friends.

"I … I had no idea. Sam hit you?"

"He damn near broke my arms and 'bout rattled the teeth out of my head shaking me. He was a whisker from going Animal Planet on me, too."

She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. I waited for her shock to fade, for her to defend him, to be let down again.

She began to pace, muttering. "I can't believe it. Not Sam. How could he? It don't make any sense." She got a hold of herself and asked suspiciously, "Something stinks like week old trash. There's more to this, isn't there?"

With trepidation, I read her. She was shocked and in denial. To be fair, that had been my first reaction too. In her favour, she _was_ waiting on my explanation before she decided which way to jump.

"Yep," I admitted. "Sam wasn't himself. Supe stuff. Neither of us have been ourselves for a while."

"Uh-huh. Why did you run off like that? Without saying a word to me?"

I shrugged. "We weren't exactly speaking Tara. I had to go."

She scowled. "Was it–"

"No," I snapped, reading her all too clearly. "It wasn't anything to do with Eric or vampires. Sheppard of Judea Tara, that right there is you being a judgemental bitch. I went away to fix what was wrong with Sam."

A spark of understanding flashed in her eyes, but distracted by my own indignation I missed the cause. "You were helping Sam heal?"

I nodded absently, focusing on her thought processes. I wanted to know if my wish had changed her, made her fight so hard to keep Sam and me together. If it had, she might never be the same. Breaking the join did just that; as I understood it, it didn't change any of the rest of it.

"So …" she said cautiously, "are you guys gonna work things out?"

I shook my head. I wasn't reading anything except a strange yearning from her. Not that I had a clue what I was looking for anyway, but I expect something more … dramatic.

"But he's a good guy, Sookie. A great guy. Why would you–"

I cut her off, figuring I had nothing to lose by asking her directly. "Tara, I just got done telling you he got physical and you're right back to defending him. Why do you stick up for him no matter what?"

She shifted uneasily. "I just want what's best for you, Sook. You said he wasn't himself."

She was hiding something, a whole lot of somethings deep in the background, buried under her surface thoughts. I pushed her. "Tara, that right there is the problem. We can't be friends if you keep taking his side over mine."

Tara stiffened. "I'm not taking his side! I'm trying to get you to see sense. I don't want you mixed up in that bullshit world again."

We were getting warmer. "Sam is part of that world."

She folded her arms. "No, no he ain't. He's not like the vamps. He's a regular guy."

"Like JB?" I hit back, hoping to push her off balance so I could get to the roots of her motives. "Plain old human JB, dumb as a box of rocks."

"You're just pissed I got to him first," she spat, furious.

With the rush of anger, her mind opened and I got it all. Images and emotions flashed one after another, leaving me dizzy.

I wanted to say so much to her. I wanted to tell her: _You're lying to yourself. _

_JB isn't enough for you, but you think he's all you deserve._

_Your momma broke you inside, all those times she hit you, called you trash. You soaked it up like a sponge. Everything you do is to cover up that hole, that pit of doubt she dug inside you. Clinging onto Eggs, when his tastes in bed left you feeling violated and worse than trash. Almost losing the store over Franklin, chasing that thrill that made you feel alive, feel like you were worth something, worth all those expensive gifts. Mickey._

_Then you settled for JB and a vanilla lifestyle with no excitement to lift you out of that pit. Miserable, bored to tears, guilty you aren't happy; you think don't deserve what you have and it's going to fall apart any minute. You want me in the same hell, stuck with Sam, because you're afraid I'm better than you, that I might leave this town and never look back. Get all the excitement and success you crave for yourself._

_You're trapped, so you want to keep me trapped too. Keep me here with you. You're scared to lose your closest friend. The only person who understands everything you've been through. The only one who knows the real you._

But I didn't say any of that. It would be spiteful, it would hurt her and it wouldn't change a thing. I couldn't fix her.

It all made sense though, fitted with Tara's past, the person she was. She'd always been objective about the men in my life before. Before she'd married JB. She wasn't with Sam, after.

I couldn't be certain the wish hadn't screwed with her, but it hardly mattered. I couldn't fix that either. All I could do was try to salvage our friendship. But it took two to tango, so she would have to meet me halfway or it would never work.

So that's what I said, blinking hard to clear the tears blurring my vision.

"Tara. We can't be friends if you keep pushing Sam at me when I'm miserable with him." I softened my voice. "I miss the sensible Tara that listened to me and my crazy problems without judging. The one that had my back."

There were tears in her eyes and mine. She looked at me for a long minute, before she spoke quietly.

"That cuts both ways. I miss the Sookie that told me I'd make a good mom with real confidence. I don't know if I can stand to be around the one that looks down her nose at me any longer. I know it hurts because you and Sam never … and I got the twins easy as falling off a greased log. But that isn't my fault."

She added fiercely, "And if you get involved in more crazy-ass supe shit, I don't want to know. I'm a mom now. I can't do that again."

She meant that. She didn't want to get involved. She just wanted something, something more exciting than what she had.

"Oh, Tara," I sighed out gently. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I don't want to lose you."

"Yeah. I'm sorry too. I don't want to lose you either. But I don't know if," she swallowed, "if we can be friends like we used to be. I'll try, but no promises."

I nodded, a tear spilling down my cheek. "Okay. We'll take it slow. See you around, Tara."

"You too, Sook."

We didn't hug. I walked away quickly, head down. When I pulled out of the lot, I glanced in the mirror. Tara was standing where I left her, staring at the ground with her arms wrapped around herself.

…

I tried to stay optimistic about the whole Tara issue.

The sky clouded over while I was eating lunch, which did nothing to alleviate my pensive mood. It wasn't just Tara weighing on my mind. I had to make some calls I'd been putting off.

Disappointingly, Amelia wasn't answering. I left her a message saying I was home and asking her to give me a call back. With that done I sighed heavily. I'd hoped for a delay, even if it was only a stilted conversation with Amelia. Steeling myself, I rang the second number.

"Hello? May I speak to Mr Cataliades please?"

"This is Desmond Cataliades."

"Oh, hi Mr C. It's Sookie. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. And yourself? I heard you had returned to this realm."

Oh. Niall. The supe world sure was a small one. "I'm fine, thanks for asking," I replied automatically. "Sorry to disturb you at the weekend but I, um, need to talk to you about a legal matter."

"I see, one moment." I could tell he was moving around. "Go ahead, we have privacy."

"Thanks. I spoke to Sam yesterday and, well, we both agreed a divorce would be for the best."

"Ah. My condolences." His genuine sentiment took me aback and I stuttered a thank-you. "I take it you wish me to represent you?"

"Yes, if you're still okay with that."

"Of course, and let me assure you I will make things as smooth and pleasant as possible, given the circumstances."

"Thank you, I'm real grateful for your help."

He explained what I needed to do before we met with Sam and his lawyer. If Sam and I came to an agreement, filing the papers with the courthouse and getting the final decree would be a formality as we'd been separated so long already.

I could be divorced in under a fortnight, a time line that made me feel hollow.

I was surprised that Mr C already knew who represented Sam legally – Frank Hughes, a younger lawyer who'd taken over from Sid Matt when he retired – but apparently when Merlotte's had been in some trouble over the winter Mr C had gotten involved on my behalf. He promised to fill me in on that when we met. I didn't want to take up too much of his weekend so I let it drop, feeling uneasily like I'd missed something as I hung up.

…

I pottered around the house for a while, before deciding grey skies or not I needed some time outdoors. I was dressed in old sweats, halfway through digging some fertilizer into the flowerbeds when a vaguely familiar SUV appeared.

I wiped my hands on my sweats as the car pulled up, realising belatedly whose it was. Sam's sister Mindy was driving and Bernie, his mom, sat in the passenger seat.

Just peachy.

They got out, Bernie's face set hard as concrete and twice as ugly. Mindy was wringing her hands and frowning, torn between disapproval and anxiety. The whole scene gave me a vivid sense of déjà-vu. It was eerily like the time Mamma Quinn and Frannie turned up to berate me for splitting up with Quinn.

I hoped this encounter would go the same way. A few harsh words exchanged, a fleeting awkwardness, and all over quickly, no blood spilt.

I sent up a short prayer that the last animal Bernie saw wasn't a tiger, and regretted that Amelia wasn't here this time to back me up with a spell or two. But her wards were intact and Mindy and Bernie had crossed them, so they didn't mean me physical harm. Yet.

I'd rescinded their invitations to the house, so if things got real nasty I could retreat to safety. I glanced towards the porch, wondering if I could reach it in time.

"Hi Sookie," Mindy said nervously. "We're not here to cause trouble. Mom just wants to speak to you."

Bernie's mouth was pinched so tight I didn't think a single word could escape. "Okay," I said, not moving any closer. "I'm listening."

"Sam isn't moving back in," Bernie all but growled. "Don't even ask him."

It was an order, not a question. He hadn't spoken to her about the divorce. Lucky me, I got to break it to her. "No, he's not. We're–"

Bernie snapped, "Finished. You're finished messing with him."

My hands went to my hips, but I kept my temper in check and my voice even. "I spoke to Sam yesterday. We're getting divorced."

Mindy covered her mouth, her eyes tearing, but Bernie's eyes stayed flinty as she replied, "Good. You stay out of his way. Let him get on with his life."

"I think that's up to Sam, don't you?"

She scowled. "No. You've done enough damage. Stay away from my son."

"Mom," Mindy cajoled, putting a restraining hand on her arm.

She shook it off and gestured at me. "Look at her! Not a hair out of place or a bit upset. She's got some guts facing me after what she did."

"Mom, calm down," Mindy hissed more urgently. "You promised."

I stood my ground. "What happened between Sam and me ... I regret the way things ended, but I didn't do anything wrong, Bernie."

She snarled, "You took off without a word as soon as you wanted rid of him. And let's not forget you made him marry you in the first fucking place."

I retorted hotly, "I did not make him marry me! I saved his damn life with that wish. I had no idea what else it would do."

Mindy was wide-eyed and confused, but Bernie ploughed right on. "Really?" she sneered. "I wasn't born yesterday. I know all about _your ki__nd _and their wishes. Wishes have to be directed. You did this. You _used_ him."

"I …" The denial caught in my throat.

Bernie wasn't entirely wide of the mark. I hadn't created the join deliberately, but the truth was I had turned to Sam, and had selfishly gone on to marry him, all because I was terrified to be alone. _I_ needed _him _to be my rock, my security blanket. I had used him, kind of, and I felt six shades of awful about that.

Triumph flashed in Bernie's hazel eyes at my inability to deny her accusation. That exasperated me enough to temporarily flush away my remorse and unlock a torrent of words.

"If I did Bernie, I did it unwittingly. By accident. And don't you dare lay this all on me. It wasn't like Sam didn't get something out of it. He's alive, ain't he? And he got what he wanted. He was after a relationship with me for years. Why do you think he brought me to Craig's wedding and pretended we were together?"

She snorted. "Because the fool needs his head examined. It never made a lick of sense, him pining over a damn _waitress_ for years. But you do have an uncanny ability to fascinate men, don't you? Real uncanny." _Fucking fairie__s. Like fucking sirens … never stood a chance..._

"Mom! That's enough!" Mindy yelled before I could answer her mom. Bernie turned her glare on her daughter, who lowered her voice and hissed, "Sam is gonna kill you when he finds out we came here as it is."

"I'm not done yet. She needs to be put in her place after what she did." Bernie turned back to me and with an effort spoke more calmly. "I guess you don't think an apology is necessary, then."

I frowned. "An apology for what exactly?"

Her eyes flashed and she snapped, "For almost killing him."

"What?"

She was absolutely livid. "That's typical! You don't even know. Why am I even surprised? You didn't care enough to tell him to his face you were leaving. Why on Earth did I think you'd give two shits for what happened to him after you left?"

What the heck was she talking about? I looked from her to Mindy and back, desperate for a clue. "What are you talking about? What happened?"

Mindy looked shocked. "You don't know? Sam was–"

I gasped. In her mind Sam lay in a bed, an IV in his arm, his skin waxy and pale, and his hair plastered to his head with sweat. Knocking on heaven's door, by the look of him.

"–in hospital for ages." Mindy finished, stepping back jerkily. "You just read my mind, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to." I hated the whine in my voice, but I hated the fear in hers even more. And the revolted expression on her round pleasant face. We'd been family for three years and I repulsed her.

Bernie repeated forcefully, "Stay away from Sam. I mean it." Then she turned to Mindy, "Let's go, honey. It'll be a cold day in hell before that bitch realises what she did, let alone gives me an apology. Wouldn't be worth the salt anyway."

I hugged myself, fighting back tears as they drove away. What the hell had happened to Sam and why was Bernie so convinced it was my fault?

…

I had a strong desire to head straight to Merlotte's to ask Sam himself, but I figured that's where Bernie and Mindy were headed and that particular hornet's nest had been stirred enough. I decided Kennedy was the one to ask.

I pulled up at the house she and Danny shared as dusk was gathering. I knocked sharply and she answered a few seconds later. She took one look at my face, glanced at the house opposite – the one with the twitching drapes hiding an extremely curious old lady – and ushered me straight inside.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

I looked around. The house was well-presented, like Kennedy, and clean as a new pin. "I'm fine." She looked sceptical so I added, "Mostly. I just had a run-in with Bernie."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Sam's mom? Is she back from Texas?"

"Yep. Especially to see me." I pulled a face.

"Christ on a cracker. How'd that go?"

I grimaced. "About as well as you'd expect. But that's not why I'm here. Seems I'm missing some facts."

"Facts?"

"Yeah. Like Sam being hospitalised while I was gone."

Her eyes widened dramatically. "Oh Lord, no-one told you? But Penny said you were at Merlotte's yesterday. Didn't Sam or anyone say anything?"

"Nope."

"Shoot. Take a seat Sook, I'll fill you in. Want a drink? Coffee?"

"Please."

Once we were settled, I let Kennedy talk, mostly just listening. She scrunched up her nose as she cast her mind back to December.

"Let's see … I gave Sam your letter that Monday night – that's when you left?"

"Uh-huh."

"He seemed real off that Tuesday. Then he didn't show the next day. We figured he was taking some time off, what with y'all fighting." She gave me a sympathetic look. "Terry and me, we took over, but by Friday there was still no word and nobody had seen Sam anywhere. He wasn't at the trailer, or the duplexes. We were all worried. Then his brother Craig turned up, late that night, at the bar. He told us Sam was in a bad way, over in some private clinic in Shreveport."

My heart sank. Ludwig's. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"No, no. It was all very mysterious. Craig was distraught. I could see it was serious. He asked us to keep the place running, so we muddled along for another week. Barely scraped through Christmas. Without you or Sam signing the checks, orders went unpaid, suppliers stopped delivering and then a couple waitresses left because their wages weren't paid. Sheryl and Ashley. They couldn't afford to stay." She stopped, biting her lip anxiously.

I didn't blame those two. They had little mouths to feed. "It's okay, Kennedy. Go on."

She nodded. "Well, with New Year coming we didn't know what to do. We were short of beer, and half a dozen other things, and short-handed. Terry and I tried to get hold of Sam's family, Craig or Bernie, but in the end the best we could do was Jason. He had no idea how to get hold of them and … Well, he wasn't real concerned about the bar. Said we should just close until Sam was back."

I got a flash of exactly what Jason had said about Sam, which involved a lot of cussing. "Oh. Um, Jason wasn't on good terms with Sam after … well, I guess you know that." After they'd had a knock-down brawl in front of half the town, everyone knew that.

Kennedy grimaced. "Yeah, I got that. We tried Sook, but Terry and me, we couldn't keep the place going indefinitely and we all felt the loss of wages. 'Specially that time of year."

"Of course. I'm sure you did your best, Kennedy." I couldn't care less about the bar. I was desperate to know what had happened to Sam.

"It didn't feel like it. It was awful, shutting the place up." Then she brightened. "It was only ten days though. Bernie turned up with Frank Hughes and a power of attorney so she could sign checks for Sam." She bit her lip again. "She looked awful, grief stricken. The form … It said Sam was in a coma, after a car accident."

"Oh God," I moaned automatically.

Kennedy was sure that wasn't the whole truth. What with Danny being Bill's day man and all, she was aware that things were never quite what they seemed with supes. She worried that Sam had gotten hurt in a fight. I was a touch disturbed by that idea myself.

"So the place reopened, but we'd lost a lot of business. And it was awkward, running things over to Shreveport for Bernie to sign." She added quietly, "She wouldn't leave his bedside. He must've been real bad, Sook."

"But you don't know what happened to him?"

"No. Not even now. Sam's very tight-lipped about the whole thing. No-one wants to ask."

"How long was he…?"

She sighed. "A while. He didn't come back to the bar until March and even then only for a few hours at a time."

"Oh no." I could see how exhausted and sick he looked in Kennedy's memories. Poor Sam. And his family … But it didn't make sense. Four months. Shifters healed faster than the rest of us.

Kennedy shifted in her chair a little. "I guess you don't know about the rest either."

"There's more?"

"About the bar there is. It was just one disaster after another …You wanna hear it now, honey?"

"Go ahead," I said grimly.

"A couple days after we reopened Andy turned up looking for Sam, like he didn't know full well he was over in Shreveport and real sick. Turned out the property taxes on the duplexes were overdue, so I left a message for Bernie. She turned up with some accountant a few days later, fit to be tied. Andy arrived and she laid into him right there in the bar, accused him of harassing her when her son was critical just because they were twoeys."

"Oh Lord."

"Yeah. Andy didn't take too kindly to that. I thought for sure Bernie was gonna get hauled off in a patrol car, but that accountant guy stepped in, calmed 'em both down. Turned out they had a few tenants skip rent knowing Sam wasn't around to chase it, so the check for the tax had bounced. It all got smoothed over, but …"

"Not before the whole town got wind of it."

"Yeah. And that accountant – what's his name? Chuck something – he handled Andy okay, but I know for a fact a few tenants walked all over him. Paid him in sob stories instead of rent money."

I groaned. "Because Sam was ill. That's despicable. He's always been a reliable landlord, how can people take advantage like that?"

"You know what folks are like. Gratitude doesn't last long when you're short on dollars." She sighed. "Merlotte's was quiet after that. January was real warm. Folks stayed home to do their drinking."

Kennedy didn't say that Bernie's public fight with Andy had put people on edge, but I heard it just the same. Folks don't visit a bar for its tense atmosphere and … Oh crap. Jason had hinted to all and sundry that Sam might not be back and the place might go under, so folks had drifted to other watering holes.

I cussed him silently for playing protective older brother at the expense of the business I part-owned. Not that Jason would've thought that through. I asked, "Things didn't pick up?"

Kennedy grimaced. "Nope. Terry was real stressed, kept disagreeing with Marcel. He threw a hissy fit and quit on us." She sniffed disdainfully; she'd never thought much of our latest cook's flighty temperament. "When we couldn't find another cook the waitresses got worried. Rumours were flying all over that the place was up for sale, that the bank was gonna foreclose…" She bit her lip again. "Then we had a guy come in around the end of February. He said he was your lawyer: tall, dark, Mr Calata-, Catala–"

"Cataliades."

"Oh, thank the Lord! You do know him. I was starting to think he wasn't genuine if you didn't know any of this."

"Haven't spoken to him yet. I was off the grid for a while." I didn't elaborate.

"Oh, that explains it. I guess he heard the rumours and came to see if he could help. He was real polite, showed me the paper you'd signed. So I figured it was okay to let him look over the books."

"Did he help any?" Bless him, Mr C would have tried.

Kennedy grimaced. "Well, he might have if Bernie hadn't chosen that day to turn up."

I sighed. "What happened?"

"She, uh, yelled at him. Whole bar heard it. She wouldn't believe he wanted to help. Seemed to think he was nosing around trying to find out how much Sam was worth so you could take him for everything he had. She wouldn't even admit you owned part of the bar. Said it was a gift from Sam to you as his wife and that didn't count."

I closed my eyes wearily. She knew I was part-owner, but I guess Sam had kept the money I'd loaned him to himself. "I guess he never told her."

Kennedy tried not to show her curiosity.

"He got in some trouble a while back and I loaned him some money. This was back before we were a couple or I never would have done that." Love and loans made uneasy bedfellows, Gran always said. "Instead of paying me back, he gave me a third of the bar."

Kennedy's eyebrows floated up. Even her surprise was elegant. "That was some loan."

"Oh, it was." I gave her a closer look. "What else did Bernie say?"

She looked away. "Your lawyer guy showed her the ownership papers in black and white. She said Sam should never have taken a cent from you, called it blood money..." Her voice trailed off and she winced.

Fucking Bernie. She all but called me a blood whore. No wonder everyone was giving me the cold shoulder.

Kennedy didn't want to say, but Bernie's words had fed the fire. Rumours about me and the damn vamps had flared to life again. Unpleasant rumours that wouldn't have been flying around Bon Temps in the first place if Sam hadn't run his mouth off about Eric in Hotshot, I might add.

Like mother, like son. Neither of them gave two figs for my tattered reputation.

I sighed and rubbed my face. Bernie did look awful in Kennedy's memories. I could excuse her lashing out when she was at the end of her rope over Sam's recovery. I just wish I knew what had…

Oh no. No, no, no.

Sam had been taken ill right after I left.

I stood up abruptly.

Kennedy stood too, anxiously searching my face. "What's wrong, Sookie? You've gone awful pale."

"I have to..." I took a deep breath, got it together. "Was there anything else?"

"Um. Sam was back home a few days after your lawyer stopped by, but he was real weak. Came back to work mid-March. And then …" Eric turned up to see Sam, but Kennedy didn't know what about and didn't want to upset me any more than I already was, so she glossed over it. "Stephanie arrived at the start of April and everything got straightened out. Hired a new cook, got Sheryl and Ashley back, even got the Freshfast deliveries back on schedule."

Freshfast were the most uncooperative of our suppliers, ever since they found out Sam was a shifter. I'd bet my last dollar they were the first to pull out.

"Okay. Thanks Kennedy. I'm sorry things have been so tough. I had no idea."

"It's okay. It's not your fault. It was just bad timing, Sam falling sick right after you left."

I tried not to flinch. We hugged our goodbyes and I hurried out.

Bad timing my ass. I was horribly certain there was a direct link between those two events and I needed a word or two with a certain silver-tongued evasive great-grandfather.

…

As soon as I got home, I dug out the business card Niall had left for me back at Wynn's house. I dialled the number and left a curt but polite message that I needed to speak to him urgently. Then I worked off some anger slicing fixings for a sandwich, cussing Niall three ways to heaven when I got too enthusiastic and caught my finger with the knife.

While I ate, I tried to remember exactly what Niall had said to me when we discussed breaking the join.

Niall had definitely confirmed it wouldn't undo Sam's resurrection. I'd asked him specifically if it would hurt Sam.

Temporary... he'd said 'it' would be temporary, and once the join was broken Sam would be fine. What was the 'it'? The conversation was only a few weeks ago for me, but I couldn't recall his exact word. Inconvenience? No… Whatever it was he certainly hadn't indicated Sam would be at death's door for months.

Damn devious fairy.

When the bell rang I hurried to the front porch, with a piece of my mind ready to hand to him.

"Oh." I took a breath or two and changed gears. "Bill."

He was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, outside the house ward. He'd been looking out at the woods and he turned to me, a slow warm smile spreading on his face. "Good evening Sookie. How are you tonight?"

"Fine, Bill, just fine." I was too preoccupied with my plans to wring Niall's neck to appreciate Bill's charms and he didn't seem to notice my smile was not at all as warm as his.

He gave me a fond look. "It's a lovely night."

"Yep, sure is."

A tiny frown flickered between his eyebrows. "A lovely night for a walk," he prompted.

"Oh. Right." I'd totally forgotten our conversation from the night before.

To his credit, he didn't show impatience, nor did his manners falter. "Perhaps, as we were prevented from doing so by your visitor last night, we could take that walk now."

Shit. "Oh. I... That is, now isn't a good time, Bill. I'm waiting on someone. Can I take a rain check?"

"Of course." He gave a little bow, but I caught the displeasure in his dark eyes. "Is it anyone I know? You seem on edge. If you need some support…"

"Oh, no. I can handle it. It's a family matter."

He relaxed, but I tensed. Crap. My guards were out in the woods somewhere, woods Niall might come through. He would mask his scent, but... Vamps. Fairies. Accidental draining waiting to happen.

"Well, Bill it was nice to see you." I said in a tone that conveyed we were done.

He blinked. "If you're sure you'll be okay?"

"Yep."

He gave me a nod and walked quickly away towards the cemetery. Sometimes I appreciated the vampire aversion to small talk. Once Bill was out of range, I called the guards using the number Pam had given me. I warned them a tall, blond, deliciously-scented visitor was arriving and they weren't to lay a fang on him.

If anyone was getting a piece of Niall, it would be me.

…

I stayed on the porch, pacing until I realised I should save my energy for scolding Niall. So I sat on the porch swing and kept my anger smouldering. That got easier the longer I waited.

Over an hour later, a figure emerged from the woods to the side of the house. Niall picked his way gracefully over. I waited at the top of the steps, arms folded and chin raised belligerently.

"Good evening Sookie," he said warmly. Then he looked at me properly and paused mid-step.

"Stay right there."

He frowned delicately. Perhaps he'd gotten to the age when fairies worried about wrinkles and tried not to frown real hard. "You are angry," he announced.

"Yep. Damn straight. You told me breaking the join would be safe. You said Sam would be okay."

"The shifter has recovered, has he not?" he said mildly.

"Oh sure, he's fine _now_. Being comatose for months is not what I call safe, Niall."

His blue eyes flashed and he stiffened. "I told you he would experience some difficulty."

That was the word he'd used!

My voice rose dangerously close to shouting. "Difficulty? Difficulty? Geez Louise Niall, he was on his deathbed! Why didn't you warn me?"

He softened his tone. "Because you are a kind and compassionate woman. You might have refused to remove the join or hesitated at a crucial moment."

"You bet your sweet patootie I would have. I wouldn't have risked Sam's life!"

"The shifter was strong enough to survive." He added casually, "If you had left the join intact, I would have killed him anyway."

I choked out a strangled, "What?"

"Make no mistake: eventually the magic would have driven him to kill you. Killing him was the only other way to prevent that. You are important to me, Sookie. I am not prepared to waste this second chance and lose the little time I have with you."

I gaped at him.

Holy fuck. He spoke so casually about _murdering_ my husband, as if the act had little more significance than squashing a bug. I felt like I'd reached my hand into a tank of goldfish and looked down to meet a shark's cold flat stare.

Niall focused entirely on me. _Predator_ screamed in my head. "You are shocked that I would kill for you. You are kin. How could I do less than the vampire? He killed for you, did he not?"

I stiffened. He meant Eric, but Bill was fresh in my mind and the old splinter of guilt over my Uncle's death jabbed at me. "There's a reason I'm not involved with vampires anymore."

The corner of his mouth twitched like he'd heard something mildly amusing.

Annoyed, I snapped, "You should have warned me."

He tilted his head. "You were told Sam would be weakened if you were apart."

I glared. "You said it would be like flu."

"The effects increase with distance."

"Well, nobody told me that!" And I'd rushed off to the other side of the world. "Goddamn it, Niall. His family were devastated. I can't begin to imagine what it did to them seeing him like that."

He shrugged.

"For someone who'd murder for his own kin you sure don't care much about another family's suffering. Jesus Christ, Sheppard of Judea," I said in disgust. He flinched at that and I almost repeated the profanity for the satisfaction of getting a reaction from the cold-hearted son of a bitch.

Niall shrugged again. "They are not my kin. You are."

I scowled. I wanted to make him understand, so he wouldn't mislead me again. Clutching at straws I appealed to his greed, knowing he'd amassed wealth here and money seemed important to him. "He was out for months. He almost lost the bar."

"It is only a bar. He had kin to take over. Employees to delegate to." Then he said sharply, "That is what I have to do when I'm called away from my duties at short notice."

I scoffed. It wasn't like he'd showered me with attention since the portals re-opened. In fact, for all his professions of love, he hadn't even stuck around to keep a vigil at my bedside when I was ill. "Was that why you dumped me with Wynn? So you could get back to being Envoy and lording it over everyone?"

Abruptly he was right in front of me, face too bright to look at, hair floating around his head in a halo of static. I froze, too shocked by his dazzling true form to react.

"Show some respect," he hissed. "I am Envoy to the fae, not a mere barkeep. I cannot leave my duties lightly. Yet here I am. When you call, I come. Do not forget that I called in a favour centuries old so you could remove the join. It would have cost me much less to kill the shifter."

His fierce blue gaze seared into me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I blinked frantically against the intense light. It dimmed slowly and he stepped back, folding back into his 'human' shape in a way that hurt my head to watch. It defied reason and bent perspective, like an Escher drawing.

I wiped my eyes, after-shadows blurring my vision. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.

"I left you with Wynn because I could not help. She was the best one to nurse you. She is trustworthy, even though her race is an old enemy of the fae. Unlike us they belong here, to this realm." He added almost too quiet to hear, "As do you."

I heard the weight of regret in those words. I looked up, my sight finally clear.

He reached out to lay his hand on my cheek and he was achingly beautiful, even with the network of fine lines around his blue eyes. "I came back to spend my twilight closer to you."

Fear shot through me at the reference to his dwindling lifespan. Despite his otherness and our misunderstandings, I loved him. He was family and I had precious little of that. I pressed my hand over his.

"My becoming Envoy will serve you well. True, the post eats up my time, but it brought me back to this realm and it carries influence that I can use if you have need of it. Do not be angry with me, child. I will not abandon you for the trappings of power."

I knew who that barb was aimed at and wisely didn't challenge it by voicing my gut feeling that when push came to shove Niall would choose his position over a great-granddaughter with the smallest dab of his blood. Power had to be important to someone who'd led his people as long as he had.

"I am sorry you are upset." He leant forward and cautiously pressed a kiss to my forehead.

I felt the warmth of fairy energy relaxing me. I knew I should still be mad, I knew he'd wriggled his way out of admitting he was wrong. But he had apologised. Baby steps.

"Goodnight Sookie," he said solemnly.

There was a quiet pop and I whispered "Goodnight Niall" to the empty air.

...


	4. Small Town Blues

Happy Halloween! Thanks for all the reviews, especially all the long, thoughtful ones from guest reviewers. Thank you for taking the time, it's appreciated.**  
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**Small Town Blues:**

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Over breakfast, I decided I'd come out even with Niall. Barely.

The old goat had apologised for upsetting me, but not for failing to make clear the impact of my actions on Sam. I had stood up for what I believed in and said my piece. We both had. It was almost like a real family fight.

Having vented my frustrations with Niall, I needed to apologise to Sam. Having no stomach for an audience, especially Bernie if she was still around, I chickened out and called Merlotte's. I asked to speak to Sam in his office, bracing myself as I waited for him to pick up.

"Sookie?"

"Hi Sam. I, um …" I took a deep breath and pushed forward. "I found out from Kennedy just last night that you were real sick last winter. You were at Ludwig's, in a coma?"

"Uh-huh," he said guardedly.

"Oh Sam, I had no idea. Are you okay? I mean, there weren't any lasting effects?"

He cleared his throat. "Took a while, but I'm fine."

His discomfort made me babble. "It was the join, wasn't it? Niall didn't tell me how it would affect you. You know what he's like, never effing explains anything properly. I never would have agreed if I'd known. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said stiffly.

"All I got was a few days of fever. I figured that's all you'd get too. I swear I had no clue it would be worse than that."

"A few days? Figures," he mumbled bitterly

I winced. I deserved that. "I can't apologise enough, Sam. I can't imagine what your family went through, seeing you like that." My voice hitched as I imagined him unconscious and helpless.

"Yeah, better not call them for a while. You're not exactly flavour of the month."

"I guess they're pretty mad I wasn't around." I purposefully didn't mention Bernie's visit. I was sure she wouldn't tell him and I was damned if I was going to be accused of stirring up trouble between them.

"Yeah. They are."

"Um... How much do they know?"

He sighed. "Craig and Mindy, just that we were having problems, I moved out and caught some virus. Kinda hard to explain the rest when they don't know fairies even exist. Mom knows everything. She knows the join made me sick, that you were off fixing things. But she..."

"Blames me anyway." I said it for him. "I know it won't do any good, but can you … can you pass on how sorry I am to Bernie and everybody else?"

"Sure. Probably won't help none. Look, I've got to go."

"Oh, okay. Bye Sam."

The phone clicked; he was gone.

I sat glumly at the kitchen table for a while, feeling remorseful for everything I'd put Sam and his family through. Eventually I convinced myself to stop wallowing and got up to make some of Wynn's calming tea. Half an hour later I was about to go out when the phone rang. Answering it, I discovered it was the day for uncomfortable phone conversations.

"Hi Sookie. I got your message." Amelia, returning my call. She was trying for perky, but she sounded almost as nervous as I was.

"Thanks for calling back. I need to ask you something about the wards…" I trailed off, wondering how to break the news of my impending divorce.

We had drifted apart long before I took off last December. Asking her to find out about the join had been the first time I'd trusted her with anything like that in years. I'd kept her at arm's length, for good reason. Amelia running her mouth had put me in danger one too many times and I'd never really taken her back into my confidence.

If I let the elephant of past mistakes sit on the line, stretching the link between us, our friendship would snap under its weight. Or I could wrestle it out of the way, forgive the past and draw Amelia back into my life.

The silence lengthened.

It wasn't like Amelia to keep quiet. Maybe she'd matured. Maybe it _was_ time to forgive her.

Elephant wrestling it was.

"Ames?" I hadn't called her that in a while. "I could sure do with a friendly ear today. Can we catch up? Really catch up?"

I heard her breath hitch. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Neither of us said anything for a second. Then we spoke over each other, stopped and laughed.

"You go first, Ames."

"Okay. How was your trip? Tara said you went to Europe."

"Oh, um, yeah. Niall took me to somewhere … interesting. And terrifying."

She gasped and said enviously, "He took you to his home?"

"Um, no. Somewhere else. You remember I asked you about joins?"

"I knew it! As soon as I heard about Sam I just knew it!" That was Amelia, more excited to be right than upset about Sam's trials and tribulations. She said smugly, "You weren't asking for someone else, were you? You were asking for yourself."

"Yes. Well, for Sam actually."

"Sam?"

"Yeah. When I used the locket, it made this super-strong, out of control join between us."

"Out of control?" she squeaked. "Oh my God, that's dangerous magic."

"It sure is. Dangerous for Sam, as it turned out. I had to go somewhere to get it undone."

"Oh wow. That must've taken some mojo."

I shuddered. "The old gal who did it sure had mojo coming out the wazoo."

She whistled. "Hence the terrifying bit, huh? We'll have to get together and talk properly."

I could visualise the hungry gleam in her eyes. Amelia had a thirst for knowledge, magical knowledge, and you couldn't get more magical than another realm, a sacred pool and an ancient drowned woman. She'd lap it up.

"Sure. I can bore you to tears with my holiday pics too. I spent a week sightseeing in England, which was kind of fun." Maybe she'd know what sort of supe Wynn was.

"That'd be great." Then she suggested hesitantly, "You could come visit me?"

I'd never been to Amelia's. Her and Bob, and little Felix, had always come to Bon Temps. "Oh, that would be nice."

She picked up on my doubtful tone. "It's difficult for me to get away from the store over the summer, what with the tourist season. I know, I know. It's the same with the bar."

"Oh. About that. I'm not working at Merlotte's."

"You're not? Wait, are you… No, you can't be. You just got back."

"Can't be what?"

"Um, pregnant?" I heard the cringe in her voice. "Sorry, Sook, I just–"

"It's okay. No, I'm definitely not expecting." Or likely to be any time soon. I was destined to be single for a while, I thought sadly.

"Oh." Then, in a very small voice, she added, "I am."

My mouth opened for the obligatory congratulations. Then I registered the quiver in her voice and hesitated, suddenly unsure. Was she worried it would upset me? Was there something wrong?

Amelia broke the silence, with a desperate rush. "I'm not due until December, so it's ages yet. Plenty of time to get Felix used to the idea. And we won't have to buy so much for a second. It'll be much easier this time around–"

I butted in at her first intake of breath. "Ames, slow down. What's wrong? Don't worry, I'm not upset."

"I … It's not that."

"Is … is it medical?" I couldn't quite bring myself to be blunter after my own heartaches.

"No, no. Everything's fine. With the pregnancy anyway. It's–" She choked and swallowed noisily. "It's Bob and me."

"Oh, honey. What happened?"

"I... I can't talk about it over the phone. Just … things are really strained." She added very softly, "Clinging on by a thread, actually."

I related. Big time. I swallowed my own lump. "A thread is better than nothing, Ames. I have a real good reason for quitting Merlotte's." I took a deep breath. "Sam and I are calling it quits. We're getting a divorce."

She gasped. "Oh no, Sookie. I'm so sorry."

"Me too. That's why I was calling about the wards."

"Oh. I get it. You want Sam taking off them. You didn't pay attention when we did them, did you?" She was mock-scolding me.

I smiled. "No, not really."

"Well, you should have. That shit is important, you know. They're tied to you; we added Sam as your husband. Once your marriage is dissolved the ward won't recognise him."

"Oh, that's… great." Dissolved. Washed away. Gone like it had never been.

There was an awkward pause.

Then I realised Ames would understand. I could talk about it. I wasn't alone.

"Things haven't been right for a while, Ames. We kept fighting, stupid ugly fights over the most ridiculous things. It was awful. Some of it was the join and some of it was just … us."

"That's terrible."

"It was. I never should have married him. He's always been a great friend and I should have stuck with that. I just hope we can get that back eventually, because right now everything's screwed up. Maybe … maybe it's a blessing we never had a kid."

"Oh Sook, don't say that." Her voice was thick with tears. My cheeks were wet. We both sniffled a good few times before she spoke again. "I know what you mean. I don't want to lose Bob as a friend either. This sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, Ames. It sure does. Thanks for listening, I appreciate it."

"No problem. You too." She moved around a little. "Shoot, I've got to go. Look, let's make a deal. If either of us needs a shoulder, we'll call each other. Right?"

"Sure, Ames. You take care now."

My misery shared and lessened, I felt perversely grateful that Ames was going through her own difficulties so she sympathised with mine. It was only later that I realised she'd hadn't shared any details of what exactly had happened between her and Bob.

…

I ran errands the rest of that day and the next. I took control of my bank accounts, cleared the backlog of mail and collected all the documents Mr Cataliades asked me to gather.

The rest of the week yawned ahead of me, empty of routine and purpose. I looked at job vacancies but nothing local appealed. I was still persona non grata with a significant section of Bon Temps anyway, so I figured I'd wait that out and look seriously once the dust had settled.

I was at a loss for what to do with myself. Without the bar, without all the things I did with or for Sam, there was a very big hole to fill. I was a little dismayed to discover how much of my life had revolved around him, but I consoled myself that at least I'd been a supportive wife in that way.

Tara didn't call and I didn't feel particularly comfortable socialising alone any place in town. I could hardly drop by Merlotte's. I would have gone stir-crazy if Michele hadn't been home on leave. Dropping by for a chat with her nearly every day and seeing Junior saved my sanity.

As Friday drew closer, anxiety overrode boredom.

Mr C had arranged an early morning meeting at Sam's lawyer's office. I still thought of it as Sid Matt's place even though he retired two years ago. His replacement Frank Hughes was middle-aged, but still trim, and greying, but not balding. He was calm and efficient, but I missed Sid Matt's warm old-fashioned Southern charm.

Frank showed us into a nondescript meeting room where Sam was waiting. The place felt impersonal and cold. I fidgeted in my seat while Frank organised coffee that I was far too nervous to drink.

I had witnessed the messy fallout of divorce before, notably the spectacular implosion of Arlene's third marriage which ended in a flurry of allegations and counter-allegations and a whole mess of nasty ugliness. So I was tense, not knowing how Sam would act. Frank's cool manner did little to soothe me, nor did Sam's appearance. He was wearing a dark suit and a funeral face to match. I refused to peek into his head; I was not stooping that low.

Frank said a few words and then handed out a list of our assets to be divided.

Sam cleared his throat and tried to smile at me. "Sookie gets the house."

I nodded quickly, wanting the painful process over with, and countered with: "Sam gets Merlotte's."

Sam hesitated, sharing a look with Mr C. "No. I get the duplexes and the rental business intact."

I frowned. "But–"

Mr C coughed politely. "I believe Mr Merlotte is referring to the fact that you own a third of Merlotte's. That investment was made before the marriage and should remain yours."

Frank sat forward. "Do you have the papers?"

"Yes." Mr C flipped the folder in front of him open and deftly extracted them. He handed them to Frank. "I've highlighted the initial transaction and included the ownership document."

Frank looked them over and turned to Sam. "Do you still intend to buy her out?"

I blinked. That was an awful lot to take out of the bar after a bad winter. I said, appealing to Sam with my eyes, "Oh, that's not necessary, we could–"

Sam shook his head, determined. "No, Sookie. You gave me that money when I needed it. I know you've got income from your inheritance, but that was your savings. I'm buying you out."

I asked pointedly, "Can Merlotte's afford that?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Yes." When I opened my mouth, he interrupted quickly. "The bar won't go under if that's what has you worried. I'm taking on another partner."

I was about to ask who it was, but Sam set his jaw in a way that said it wasn't any of my business.

Mr C coughed again and suggested an amount, the original sum plus a return based on Merlotte's increased value. I wasn't in this for every cent I could get, and I certainly didn't want any of them thinking I was. I argued stubbornly for just the original amount, which was all I ever expected to be repaid. Mr C countered that was reasonable for a short-term loan, but not for one over three years. Sam agreed with him and I reluctantly compromised on an amount based on how the money would've grown in my savings account.

After that, it was simple. We kept our own vehicles. I would return some bits and pieces Sam had left in the house, and pick up my personal items from Merlotte's. That was that. We drew up the papers, notarised what needed notarising and signed what needed signing.

The whole time I kept up a brittle calm. Sam was tense and quiet, mind shut tight. It wasn't until we were out in the parking lot that chinks opened up in our respective suits of armour.

Sam was standing by his truck fishing in his pocket for his keys.

"Sam?" I said tentatively, from a couple feet away.

He looked over, his expression guarded.

I swallowed and stepped closer. "I just wanted to say … thank you for being reasonable in there." I waved at the building. "That could have been... you know. I know it wasn't easy for you. Thank you." I reached out and squeezed his arm very quickly.

He searched my face for a second and then nodded to himself. "Thank you too, Sookie. Take care now." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and faded as he turned away.

"You too, Sam," I said quietly.

…

I had more free time than Sam so I volunteered to file the papers.

Mr C drove me over to the parish courthouse, where he walked me through the filing process. That was the easy part. We got the filing number from the clerk and to speed things up, we drove straight back to Bon Temps to serve Sam with the relevant papers. Mr C took them into him at Merlotte's, got them signed and stamped, and we drove back over to deposit them at the courthouse.

The clerk filled out the certificate, which needed a judge's signature the same day. Even with Mr C's comforting presence, my palms were sweating when I went into the judge's chambers.

The judge looked over the papers, giving me several piercing glances over his reading glasses. Agitated, all I could tell from his mind was that he was examining the proof we'd lived apart for six months. Mr C had provided paperwork that showed I'd been in Europe. Rather dubious paperwork as that wasn't precisely true, but no-one had stamped my passport 'Other Realm'.

Fearing that the judge had spotted an inconsistency, my heart thudded when he asked if I'd enjoyed Rome. Turned out he only wanted to reminisce about a trip to Italy he'd taken with his wife. I faked my way through that conversation by pulling details from his memories, almost faint with relief when he finally signed and we could leave.

The final step – more paper shuffling, more signatures – had to wait until the following Wednesday.

I invited Mr C for a meal afterwards, mainly so I wasn't alone. While we ate, he filled me in about Merlotte's.

What he told me explained a whole lot: Sam needing the loan in the first place, his nagging me to invest more money, even why I never had anything to do with the rental business. Heck, it explained Sam living in a trailer behind the bar for years and needing Eric's help with my bail money.

Sam bought the bar with cash, but took out hefty loans to buy the duplexes. For years he'd been using the bar profits to cover the repayments if the rental income fell short. When Victor opened the Roadhouse and those idiots were protesting outside the bar, profits nose-dived. Sam hadn't told me, but a couple of his tenants left too, probably frightened off by Victor's goons. Both businesses came up short and Sam couldn't rob Peter to pay Paul. That's when he got into a real mess and needed my help. When he made me part-owner, it wasn't exactly the respectful gesture I'd thought. He literally couldn't pay me back.

On a recommendation from Greg Vicks, Portia's husband, Sam hired an accountant called Chuck Yates to sort out the books. Chuck separated the two businesses completely, putting all the debt back where it belonged with the rental business, incidentally enabling Sam to hide all this from me after we got married. Mr C refrained from commenting on Sam's motives there. Chuck's actions put the bar back on good footing, but a few lean months this winter and everything fell apart.

I was disturbed that Sam was buying me out if things were so bleak, but Mr C reassured me it was all sorted out back in March when an investor from Mississippi bought a share of the duplexes, reducing Sam's debts dramatically.

The hotshot with money burning a hole in his pocket was Edward Burrows, Stephanie's uncle. I put two and two together and Mr C confirmed Stephanie was here keeping an eye on her uncle's investment. Officially, that is. Unofficially I reckoned there was more to it, but I kept that to myself. Mr C was vague on how Mr Burrows got involved, but I figured as Stephanie was a shifter, Sam or Bernie had a connection to the family.

I had a real good hunch Mr Burrows was buying my share of Merlotte's.

I felt bad that Sam had to share his bar with a stranger, but it was better for Sam if it wasn't my business any more, literally and figuratively.

There was no point having a conniption because he'd hidden his financial woes from me out of stupid macho pride. I could let it go. None of it affected me. Not anymore.

After Mr C had gone, I felt … I didn't know how I felt about the divorce.

I should be proud of us both. We handled a painful task calmly, with tact and sensitivity, like adults. I should, but the whole thing felt unreal, too detached.

Ending a marriage should have an impact, hit you in the gut. This… It bothered me that it hadn't. I was a little saddened that the whole thing could pass away with hardly a whimper, as if it was scarcely alive in the first place.

I had a sudden, vivid memory of Eric slashing his arm deeply, blood dripping slowly from the long gash.

What did I want? Sam to tear his hair and beat his chest, for him to bleed for me? That was ridiculous.

No, it was far better this way, without any melodramatic outpourings of grief. Easier on both of us. I'd hurt Sam enough, and if he was still hurting I was the last person he would want witnessing that.

This way we both kept our dignity intact.

…

I slept uneasily that night, so I was groggy when the phone rang at two o'clock in the morning.

I snapped wide awake when I recognised Jason's voice. Fifteen minutes later – out of the house real fast, ignoring speed limits on the way – I was pulling up at my brother's house.

For a woman in labour Michele was far calmer than Jason, who was fidgety and eager to be off to Clarice. Michele was pale, but holding up. The guest room was ready for me to stay in, to babysit Junior. Michele popped in to kiss him before they left. He was fast asleep.

I slept on and off until movement on the bed woke me. I opened my eyes to meet Junior's curious stare, his face disconcertingly close.

"Trucks?" he asked hopefully.

I groaned and sat up, shooting the baby monitor a glare. So much for some warning to get myself together. It was six o'clock.

"Not right now. Breakfast first, Jay-Jay." Jay-Jay was his latest nickname. He liked it, so it was sticking.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, I cooked pancakes and fielded questions. Not where were mom and dad, or when would his baby sister arrive, but whether I knew how to make pancakes properly with chocolate chips, when we could play trucks and why he couldn't have a cookie, which made me chuckle. He was cute _and_ exhausting. Just like Jason.

When Jason rang two hours later we were still playing with Jay-Jay's toy trucks. Michele and baby girl were doing just fine and I could bring Jay-Jay to meet his sister.

Marie Adele Stackhouse was a gorgeous tiny bundle of joy.

I took a bunch of photos – I'd dragged myself into the twentieth century and bought a digital camera after finding Dave's easy to use – of Jay-Jay holding Marie Adele for the first time. Jason told him very seriously that he was a big brother and he had to protect his little sister.

Jason glanced up at me and our eyes met, his full of regrets and mine forgiveness.

The Schuberts arrived. I took photos of the proud grandparents with Marie Adele and Jay-Jay. Nominating myself as official photographer gave me an out when it came to any questions Michele's parents might have about Sam's absence. Grandma Schubert side-eyed me a few times, but said nothing. Grandpa was a lovely guy, far too kind to put me on the spot.

The novelty wore off for Jay-Jay when Marie fell asleep. Grandpa and I took him for hot chocolate, leaving Michele and her mom chatting while Jason made some calls.

Watching Grandpa Schubert with Jay-Jay brought memories of my own grandfather, Mitchell, patiently teaching Jason and me to fish. He loved roaming the woods with us. I had idly imagined Fintan a time or two since I learnt about him, but I hadn't thought of Mitchell in a long time. I was young when he died and I'd let him sink into the past. Seeing Jay-Jay holding his Grandpa's knotted hand, I realised I'd done Mitchell Stackhouse an injustice. He showed me the meaning of patience, the worth of things made with your own two hands and a gentle sense of humour.

He was my true grandfather.

Back in Michele's room, I was quiet. The others assumed Jay-Jay had woken me too early and left me alone. Sitting in a corner, my eyelids drooping, I thought on family long gone and what it meant to be a Stackhouse in name, not in blood.

I was convinced Fintan had loved Gran and their children. After all, he gave her the Cluviel Dor and hid us all, from his family and enemies alike. I'd never determined Gran's feelings and motives. Was Fintan just a wild hair, an attractive means to an end? Did she truly love Mitchell, or was she too loyal to leave him? I didn't know, despite living with her all those years, privy to her thoughts.

I had loved Mitchell Stackhouse.

I surprised Mr Schubert by hugging him tightly when he and his wife left.

Jason ordered pizza for lunch. He took Jay-Jay to clean up afterwards, so it was just me, Michele and the baby when Tara cautiously stuck her head around the door looking askance at Michele. Jason had called JB, and reluctantly agreed Tara could visit with him while the twins were with JB's parents.

Michele shrugged and JB bounced in like an excited puppy. He cooed at Marie Adele while Tara stayed awkwardly near the door. When Jason and Jay-Jay came in, there was enough noise from the guys to hide the stilted small talk between us womenfolk. Michele smiled at JB holding Marie, and finally Tara unbent some and went to look at her, smiling fondly at JB in a way I hadn't seen for a while.

Kennedy and Danny arrived next, holding hands. I had a pang that Sam wasn't sharing the moment with me, but Jason had made it clear he wasn't welcome. Acutely aware I was a spare wheel, I offered to get coffee and slipped out. I leant against the wall outside the door, enjoying my first real moment alone of the day.

_Aunt Sookie?_

I looked around for Jay-Jay before I registered that the whisper was wrong – older and oddly muffled.

Hunter and Remy rounded the corner. Hunter grinned at me, his brown hair flopping over his hazel eyes. He was eight years old, thin and tanned. He was definitely Remy's son, but I could see Hadley in the set of his eyes and mouth.

We hugged and kissed. I went back in with them so I could capture Hunter and Marie meeting for the first time on camera. After five minutes Hunter began to fidget. I shot him a sympathetic look and a private message.

_Want to escape?_

_Yes please. It's great that they're all so happy but it's too loud._

I took Remy's drink order and Hunter jumped up, offering to help. We shared a secret smile as we left. On the way to the cafeteria we chatted mind to mind, about Marie Adele at first. Then I asked how he was. Remy's latest girlfriend, Hannah, had stuck around while I was gone. Hunter was okay with that; she was easy going. Hannah didn't know he read minds, but Hunter got on with her. It was easier now he didn't blurt out everything he heard. I asked how school was. He was better at shielding than I was at his age, so he had it easier with other kids, but he still got tired and head-achy. Remy had found him a smaller school and told his teachers he suffered migraines, so he was allowed to go to the sick room for some peace when he got overwhelmed. It wasn't perfect, but he was coping.

It helped enormously that Remy had grown to accept it. Remy's thoughts never got as bad as my momma's. Even if Hunter sometimes caught Remy's unease, he wasn't being dragged to psychologists or accused of making it up for attention. The pull momma felt towards daddy, his fairy magnetism, was the root of that. All Hunter had to put up with was Remy's mostly ordinary frustrations as a single dad.

_Did you see anything cool in England?_

I grinned and showed him some images: the moors, the castles, the sea, Dave's cool car.

_Way cool. I hope I get to go there when I'm a grown-up._

_Me too Hunter. _He deserved a fuller life than mine. _I brought back a present for you, so no peeking in my head._

_No, ma'am._

He watched me thoughtfully while I fed coins into the vending machine.

_Your shields are different._

Oh shit. Blood. Vampires. Eric. I tightened those shields hard as I pressed the button for coffee. I kept my mental voice calm. _Oh? Different how?_

_Tougher. No holes. Usually it's like … Like when someone walks by at night when your window is open. You hear a few words before they get too far away. Like that. I hear bits. But not today. And when you show me pictures other things leak out. They didn't this time._

Double shit. How did I explain my super-sealed shields to an eight year old? I searched for a place to start, ferrying coffee over to the tray I had ready on a table.

_Can you teach me to do it?_

I froze at the longing in his question. Hunter saw my reaction and his face fell.

_It's okay if you don't want to._

I put the coffee down, turning to face him. _No Hunter, it's not that. I would if I could. It's–_

_I'm not good enough?_

_No. No. It's something I can't teach you. Something happened to me that made me stronger. But it was a one off, and it's gonna wear off soon._

_Oh._ He relaxed, understanding something from my uncomfortable expression. _It's a grown-up thing. That's okay. I don't wanna know._

His shudder of distaste had me worried he'd seen something gruesome or explicit. I had a quick peek and smothered a smile. It was nothing he'd seen telepathically. He'd walked in on Remy and Hannah making out. Mild stuff, but at eight kissing was the pits. Especially if it was your dad.

_Sorry kiddo._ I pulled him into a hug, careful to avoid skin contact. He was wearing long sleeves even though it was warm.

"That's okay," he whispered bravely, hiding his disappointment. My heart broke for him.

In compensation, I let him load up the tray with candy and we headed back, talking out loud this time. We were in the elevator alone when I remembered I'd never found out if he'd seen Lattesta back in December. I showed him what Lattesta looked like.

He frowned. "I don't remember. I know him though. Is he … bad?"

"He's a special sort of cop. But he knows about me." I tapped my head. "He tried to make me help him. He was mean. If you see him, stay away from him and tell your Dad. But I don't think he'll bother you."

He nodded seriously. "Okay. I'll remember."

Eight year-olds should trust cops. I felt horrible for chipping away another piece of his innocence, but he was better off warned just in case Lattesta turned up again like a bad smell.

When we got to our floor, we met Hoyt coming down the corridor. He took the tray from me and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Hey, Sookie. How are you? I see Jason got you waitressing for him."

I smiled. "Hey Hoyt. Congratulations on the baby by the way."

He blushed. "Thanks, Holly and me are real pleased." He turned to Hunter. "Here, Cody's inside. Grab some candy for you both." Hunter didn't need to be asked twice, he looked up to the older boy. He shot off to see Cody, fists full.

"Sook?"

I stopped on my way to open the door for him. "Yes, Hoyt?"

"You got folks in your corner, Sook. Me, and Catfish, and some of the guys... We know you. Not everybody believes the stuff folks are saying."

I was touched. "Thanks Hoyt."

While everybody grabbed a drink, I fished Hunter's present out of my bag – a book about castles. Hunter was impressed and so was Cody. It sure kept them quiet.

Soon after that Jay-Jay got cranky, needing sleep. I took him back to Jason's and dozed on the couch while he napped. Luckily I'd set an alarm, so when Jason, Michele and Marie Adele arrived later, dinner was ready and the toys were cleared away.

I went home that night content.

I braved church the next morning to give some heartfelt thanks for Marie Adele's safe delivery. After the service people were a mite friendlier. Quite a few came up to coo over the photos on my cell and pass on congratulations for Jason and Michele. I was careful not to listen in, taking their interest and polite remarks at face value.

My shields held firm.

I spent the afternoon at Jason's cooing over Marie and cooking for them. Poor Michele was exhausted. She took a nap when I arrived, looking fresher after it. She gave me the blow-by-blow account of the birth again, lingering on how green Jason went before he cut the cord so we could tease him good-naturedly. He took it well.

I went home that evening, caught up on some chores, had a brief chat to Thalia about guard rosters and turned in early. Something woke me at eleven, but I was so tired and happy that I rolled over and went right back to sleep. The next morning, I found a short note from Bill and gift for the new arrival on the porch.

…

It would have been easy to spend all my time at Jason's, but he only had a week off work and I didn't want to intrude on that delicate time of family bonding. I stayed away Monday, doing chores and sunbathing.

Tuesday, I was restless and ran a couple of errands. My reprieve had ended and the guardians of morality were back to giving me the cold shoulder. In Bon Temps, that was ladies of a certain age. Free during the day, they lay in wait wherever I went. I took the high ground and ignored them.

My last stop was the library. With so much time on my hands the previous week, I needed new reading material. Barbara Beck was tight-lipped when I walked in. Two mature ladies whispering by the romance shelves shut up far too quickly when I arrived behind them.

I'd had enough. I picked the sour looking one, brushing past her to get a lock on her mind. What I saw had me biting back a cuss word that would get me thrown out.

Firstly, Sam and I were spotted outside Sid Matt's place, so somebody put two and two together to get sixteen. The whole town knew we were divorcing.

That, I expected.

The rest…

Delightfully, Bernie had been over for the weekend, somehow generating a flurry of talk. I thought darkly that there needed to be a special divorce procedure for mother-in-laws. One that involved a shotgun.

Sunday afternoon, Bernie was overheard complaining to Maxine that I'd poisoned Jason against Sam, who was gutted he couldn't visit the new baby. Yeah right, like Bernie even cared. As a bitten panther, Jason was the twoey version of trailer trash to her. She'd be glad if Sam never laid eyes on his kids again.

Hot on the heels of that loveliness, Sam had had a blazing row with his mother. No-one knew the details, but my name was overheard, so obviously the rift between mother and son was all my doing.

Final verdict from sourpuss and her friends: I was spiteful, vindictive and intent on tearing two families apart. But I was no better than I ought to be, because I'd upped and left Sam for a vampire, a vampire who put Sam in a coma.

Great. Just what I needed.

I counted to twenty, ignored their sly glances and chose my books. Two romances and a murder mystery.

For a moment, faced with Barbara's fake smile as she checked out my choices, I imagined telling them all some home truths about Bernie, the world's worst interfering mother-in-law. About how she'd never accepted me because I wasn't the right 'breed' to marry her son.

Then I realised how that made shifters sound. No-one around here could fail to recognise that 'stick to your own kind' attitude for what it was. I looked at the two older women, both white. Not everyone of their generation would disagree with Bernie's sentiments. I'd be wasting my breath.

I plastered on the Crazy Sookie smile and politely thanked Barbara Beck. I left the library in high dudgeon, muttering about unfairness, lonely old women and their over-active imaginations.

…

Wednesday I had a date at the courthouse. I'd assured Mr C I could do this alone, but I wished for his steadying company as I approached the judge, praying for no last minute hitches. He rambled on about Rome again while I nodded and smiled, all the while willing him to get on with it so I could get out of there. Eventually he signed off on the papers.

My divorce was entered into the public record.

That was it.

I walked out of the room, clutching the final judgement. I slipped it carefully into the folder I'd brought, and headed to my car. I drove home. I took the folder to the cabinet in the front room, where Gran had always kept important family documents. I took out the box file and opened it.

My marriage certificate was on the top, the last document added.

I sat on the floor, staring at its fancy lettering for some time.

Finally I added the divorce certificate and put the box back in its place. I didn't bawl, didn't shed a tear. I spent the rest of the day quietly, alone, absorbing my change in marital status.

…

Michele invited me round Thursday morning, knowing a fix of Marie Adele would chase away my divorce blues. I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent with my niece and nephew, grateful for Michele's unspoken support.

When I got home, Sam had left a message on my machine letting me know he'd got his copy of the final decree and that if I stopped by the bar at three, he had my things ready. I appreciated him suggesting the quietest time of day. I had the last box of his things ready to take over.

I parked behind the bar, hoping to be in and out without being spotted. With the box on my hip I struggled to open the back door, but as soon as I did I heard muffled voices coming from the office. The voices got louder, and I hesitated a few steps inside. The office door was snatched open.

"... done nothing but help you. Asshole."

Stephanie burst out of the office, scowling thunderously. Her lip curled as she pushed past me and I heard her mutter, "Cut the damn apron strings," before she slammed out the door.

"Steph, wait!" Sam shot out of the office after her, pulling up sharply when he saw me, his gaze darting to the closing back door. He clearly wanted to chase after her, but he stayed put. He ran his hand sheepishly through his hair. "Oh. Hi."

I glanced after Stephanie. "Is this a bad time?"

He shrugged, feigning indifference. "No, it's fine." He took the box from me and gestured to the office.

My desk was cleared, a lone box sitting on it.

"I started a box... I'll give you some time to look round, make sure you're got everything." He stepped out of the room and left me to it.

I was glad he had. That box had a lump forming in my throat. Merlotte's had been my second home most of my adult life. The place was full of memories and I was sad to leave. I slowly checked the drawers and the contents of the box. Sam had even packed the plants I'd added to the office, as if he wanted all reminders of me gone.

I reckoned I would too, in his shoes.

Ten minutes later, I was done. I set my keys for the bar on the desk and left.

Sam was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall. He took the box without a word and carried it to my car. Once it was safely in the trunk, he rubbed the back of his neck. I waited for him to spit out what was on his mind.

"Sookie, I owe you an apology."

"You do?"

He sighed. "Yeah. For Bernie."

Really. That had been a long time coming. "What for, exactly?"

He looked at his shoes. "Turns out she's been … Well, not to beat around the bush, she's been trying to set me up this whole time."

So that was what he and Bernie fought about. Figured. I wasn't going to say I told you so, but I was going to make him say it. "Set you up?"

He coughed. "With … other women … shifters." He searched my face. "You don't seem surprised, Cher."

"I'm not. I tried to tell you." I tried not to sound bitter.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I should've listened."

I shrugged. I didn't ask for details, didn't need to. The skank in the bar in Texas. That little shifter chick from out of town that turned up at Merlotte's. Lord knew who else and how many. I didn't want the list.

He cleared his throat. "She, er, promised my dad. That she'd make sure I had a shifter child."

"Oh." He'd never spoken about his father. "I guess that was important to him."

"Yeah. Not important enough to talk to me about it." It was his turn to sound bitter. "Sookie?" He waited until I looked at him. "I never cared about that. Whether you were a shifter or not."

I managed a smile. "I know, Sam."

"Good." He shuffled uneasily and I waited for him to spit out what else was bothering him. He was tentative when he spoke. "I … Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I should warn you about something."

"Go ahead."

"It happened a while ago, before we got ma–, before I moved into your house."

And he was just telling me now? Secretive is as secretive does. I kept my face questioning rather than accusatory.

"I… Well, to cut a long story short, I found a couple of bugs."

Bugs? I had visions of Dean chasing fireflies for a second, until it hit me he meant the other sort of bug. Nastier, more invasive and electronic. I asked sharply, "Where?"

"On your car, the porch steps. I got rid of them as soon as I found them; put them out in the woods. Figured whoever was listening would take a while to work that out before they came back to plant more."

"And did they?"

"Once. Planted one by the back door, another by your room. But after I moved in I never found any more. Now you're alone out there … I could come by and check?"

"Oh. I can get Thalia to…" He looked like he wanted to interrupt. "What? You think a vampire planted them?"

"Not for certain. Whoever it was covered their tracks pretty well. The second lot were planted at night, and the only vamps around at the time were Karin and Bill."

Karin was dead. I was pretty sure Sam knew that. So meant… I tensed. "Why are you telling me this now, exactly?"

Sam flushed, rubbing his neck nervously.

"Sam," I said warningly.

"I just thought–"

"You know Bill's been calling on me," I snapped, cutting off his lame excuse. "Have you been watching me? As Dean?"

"No, of course not." We glared at each other, until he relented. "I heard … Okay, _Dean_ overheard Kennedy talking to Danny about it."

"Uh-huh." I wasn't happy with him or Dean nosing around my friends and my business. Too many ex-wives put up with crap like that, but I wouldn't be one of them. "I can't say as I approve of you eavesdropping on my friends about me, Sam. It's not healthy."

He snapped, "It was an accident." Then he took a breath and tried again. "I just … I don't want to see Bill hurt you again. You gotta be on your guard with him, Sook."

I sighed. "You think it was Bill that planted those bugs."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Or Karin on Eric's orders. I never trusted Karin's motives with you."

Those bugs certainly didn't make Karin seem trustworthy. Maybe that explained why Sam had a hissy fit over Pam's guards. I knew Eric hadn't had much contact with his children, so it was unlikely he had ordered it. Karin or Pam might have taken the initiative though, to keep an eye on me. Pam would probably admit it if I asked. She'd been open about them tracking my car and phone the other night.

Bill. Now why would Bill bug me? I couldn't fathom a reason that made much sense. To keep me safe? Why take the trouble with Karin there? Bill hadn't seemed interested in me back then, so I wanted to dismiss what Sam was hinting at. But maybe he was on to something. Bill had been quite enthusiastic about that walk.

Sam touched my arm when I'd been silent for too long. "I thought you should know. I… I know it's too late to change anything, but I shouldn't have kept all that stuff from you."

He was contrite, I could tell that much. "No, you shouldn't have. I'm glad you realise that."

"Just be careful around Bill. I don't trust him."

His feelings about Bill were harder to read. "I'll be careful. Thanks for telling me, Sam. See you around?"

"Sure. Take care, Cher."

He gave me an awkward pat on the arm and walked quickly away. I watched him go, wondering how much of our conversation was motivated by genuine concern and how much by old-fashioned jealousy.


	5. Girls Just Want To Have Fun

Hi all. Here's this week's chapter, hot off the presses. Thanks for all your the insightful reviews, including the guest ones &amp; yours, tanseynz. If anyone spots any typos or anything PM me so I can fix them.

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**5: Girls Just Want To Have Fun**

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That Friday I'd been home a fortnight and I was past ready for my new life to start. After my optimism on the plane home, I felt time a-wasting, but there I was, back in Bon Temps and stuck in a rut.

I was frustrated with my neighbours, fed up to my gritted back teeth with the pernicious gossip that was more of the same old, same old. Crazy Sookie running around with vamps, blah, blah, blah. I dreaded getting stuck in a dead-end job at a diner in town or the Norcross plant. Not that those options weren't good honest work, but I wanted more. And on top of that, the conversation with Sam about Bill was far too familiar, history repeating.

I was trudging a well-worn path, pushing the same boulder up the same hill over and over, only to have it squash me flat as a pancake as it rolled back down. Every damn time.

I was restless, out of sorts all day.

So I wasn't in a particularly welcoming mood that evening when a car pulled up and its horn sounded. I opened the front door, my sullen mood rapidly turning into puzzled curiosity.

It was Danny's station wagon. Out of it, carrying bags and bottles, came Kennedy, Holly, Penny and lastly, smiling cautiously, Tara.

No-one confessed whose idea it was to throw me an impromptu divorce party, but I suspected Michele had a hand in it. It was a big improvement on the pity party I'd been having on my lonesome, let me tell you.

While the others were busy unloading groceries in the kitchen, Tara pulled me aside and told me quietly that even though things were strained between us, she wanted to be there for me at this difficult time. We hugged, brief but tight, and some of the tension between us eased.

My guests took over the kitchen and Penny made tacos. Well, she was in charge. Kennedy and I exchange some amused looks as the shy Penny we knew transformed in to the most demanding kitchen boss ever. When she snapped at me for not chopping the tomatoes correctly, we all burst out laughing.

Penny flushed and began to apologise.

"Don't you dare!" said Kennedy, gasping for breath. "I'll take feisty Chef Penny over meek and mild-mannered Waitress Penny any day."

Holly wiped her eyes and bumped hips with Penny. "Guess we know what Ryan sees in you now, Mistress Penny."

Penny smirked. "Yeah, it's my awesome tacos. If y'all could only follow my instructions you'd find out just how awesome they are."

We all gasped at her sass, and broke into more laughter. I don't know how those tacos got made with Penny jokingly snapping orders and insulting our kitchen skills, and us sassing her back, calling her head chef, and captain, yes-sirring and saluting behind her back.

I hadn't had so much fun in an age, and if my guards heard us moaning over the taste of those tacos and got the wrong idea … Well, they _were_ absolutely delicious.

Afterwards we sat around the kitchen table playing cards, wearing silly party hats. We drank – I stopped after two of Kennedy's Long Island iced teas, that girl made them strong and it was never pretty if I lost control of my telepathy around other people – we laughed and we talked until the small hours. About books, movies, celebrities, the price of fame, our wildest dreams, stupid online videos … Anything and everything.

My new and improved shields were wonderfully impervious. Drunken thoughts were the worst, confused and sordid, so it was great to be spared them.

The company and laughter swept away my restlessness for almost the whole evening, but there was one serious moment, when it was just me and Kennedy in the kitchen and everybody else was stumbling towards bed.

The only sober ones left standing, we were clearing up. I stared out into the night as I washed dishes, wondering what the guards made of my loud party. That made me think of Pam and everything she'd done for me. Pam and Michele, they'd both been pillars of strength. I felt their absence. I had a vision of Pam observing our party like it was some strange tribal custom and sniggered to myself. I could totally see that happening.

I sobered up pretty quick when Tara popped into the picture I was imagining.

Tara and Pam together would be a disaster. I had no idea how Penny felt about vamps either. Pam might be too much for her, Penny was usually so timid. My heart sank. My life, my friends were split into two layers, oil and water, that would never mix effortlessly. I couldn't see a way to resolve that, but I promised myself I'd see Pam soon. Even if she couldn't socialise with my human girlfriends, I was determined to be a better friend to her.

As we got to the last dish Kennedy spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. "I guess you're not coming back to Merlotte's. I heard you cleared your desk."

"Yep. I won't be back. Sam bought me out." I sighed.

"Know what you're going to do?"

"Nope. Not a clue. Maybe waitressing." I pulled a face.

"Hmm." She looked thoughtful. "That's a step down, isn't it? You should be aiming higher, maybe bar manager."

"Those jobs don't come up often."

"No, I guess not. Not in Bon Temps … But you could look further away. Minden or Monroe. Shreveport even."

Just then a burst of giggles came from the back of the house. We looked at each other. I rolled my eyes. "Oh Lord, what are they up to now?"

Kennedy grinned. "Let's find out. It sounds like fun."

…

My sleepover guests left after a hearty breakfast of pancakes, mostly recovered from the festivities. Kennedy's advice repeated in my head as I looked out of the window at my pride and joy, my silver Focus. It was far more reliable than my previous cars. Kennedy was right; I had more potential than waitressing and I wasn't tied to Bon Temps.

That spark of confidence carried me through the weekend.

Saturday morning I shopped in Monroe, meeting up with Kennedy and Penny. I bought myself some smart office wear and a cute outfit for Marie Adele that I couldn't resist, and, on a hunch, a gift basket of Michele's favourite toiletries.

I spent the afternoon at Jason's doting on my niece and nephew. I was right: Michele had arranged the party, including Tara for me despite the fact they hadn't made peace yet. To show how much I appreciated her kindness, I present her with her pamper-kit and told Jason to give her time to use it. She was touched, but made light of it, dismissing her glistening eyes as baby blues.

That evening I covered the kitchen table with local papers and, in fat red marker, circled all the suitable daytime jobs within an hour's drive. Then I narrowed it down, crossing off jobs at larger companies, ones that would be too difficult when Eric's blood wore off and my shields were back to normal.

Sunday I skipped church, figuring quiet contemplation and a pray or two at home while I was baking beat running the gauntlet of the gossips. I left a message for Pam asking if she was free on Monday for some girl time while Fangtasia was shut, mentioning I had some plans to discuss with her. Then Danny – who by virtue of being Bill's day man had become an expert, or at least more expert than me – came by to help me coerce my computer into producing a professional résumé, which turned out to be surprisingly easy once he showed me how to use the software Sam had put on there. Danny left with a warm apple pie as a thank you and I spent the afternoon researching college courses, trying not to feel daunted by the entry requirements and the cost. That evening I wrote cover letters for the companies I planned to visit the following day.

On Monday, I dressed smartly and left with a stack of resumes. I had my route all worked out. I stopped off at a couple places in Minden first. Visiting in person not only impressed potential employers, it allowed me to get a feel for the places with my telepathy, find out if the staff were happy or if the boss was a nightmare. I crossed off one place where the boss was way too interested in my chest and the receptionists were wary of being alone in his office with him.

I got to Shreveport mid-morning and my first stop was the admissions office for LSU. I was nervous but the lady who spoke to me, Carol, was lovely, very reassuring, both outwardly _and_ mentally. She really believed older students were more committed. She asked me a lot of pertinent questions.

Was I interested in a full degree? I wasn't sure. She saw my hesitancy and suggested taking some placement tests. If I had the aptitude I could enrol part-time, take a few courses and see how I got on. She was sure I'd surprise myself.

What courses was I interested in? I figured business or accounting given my experience, maybe some computing. She nodded, saying those things were very popular. Then she pointed out I could take courses in other areas too, rattling off a long list. She noticed my eyes light up when she got to psychology. I'd lingered over the course description online the day before, thinking of Tara and the insight my gift gave me into the way people thought. She pointed out that psychology combined well with business and I could always switch if I found it interesting.

Would I prefer evening and online courses? She grinned when my face lit up at the thought of studying at home in peace and quiet. How many hours could I commit to study? Would I need to work? I'd figured out my fairy funds would just stretch to cover full-time studying, but I preferred fewer classes combined with a part-time job so I wasn't living hand to mouth again.

The earliest I could enrol would be the fall term, starting in August.

I left with an appointment to take the placement tests a few days later, while my shields were still strong, and a pile of forms to fill in. The options pencilled in for if I passed: a basic online accountancy course that should be easy given what I'd learnt working at Merlotte's, and two introductory evening courses in business and psychology.

I sat in the car beaming with excitement. I was really going to do this.

I glanced at the pile of résumés on the passenger seat. What I needed was a well-paying job for the next few months, then something part-time when classes started. Sure, I had the money from my share of Merlotte's, but I wanted to put that by for emergencies, not live off it. And I needed the contact with other people.

I ate at that fancy Italian place I liked, flipping through my cover letters before my food came, ridiculously pleased that the waiter assumed I was a business woman working through lunch. After that I drove all over, dropping off résumés and checking out receptionists' opinions of their bosses.

I got home about five. I was opening the back door when a low whistle from the trees had me turning round. I identified Margaret by her mind as she stepped into view. She was polite enough not to sneak up on me. I appreciated that.

"Hi Margaret. What can I do for you?"

"Hello Sookie. You had a busy day today."

I grinned. "Didn't lose you did I?"

She grinned back. "Nope. I wouldn't let Jack drive. Guess you've got plans though."

"Oh... yes. Nothing definite yet." I didn't want to jinx it.

"LSU is a great school. You'll do well."

I flushed. "Um, thanks. I'm not counting my chickens yet."

She cocked her head. "That why you're looking for work too?"

"Oh, sort of. Something to tide me over until classes start. Daytime I hope. Um, is that going to be a problem?" I asked warily. I hated that the whole guard situation might limit my plans.

She shrugged. "I don't think so. Does Pam know yet?"

"I'm seeing her tonight."

"We'll work something out, don't worry." She nodded goodbye, and headed off into the woods.

I went inside, put dinner in the oven and relaxed in the tub while it cooked, tired but pleased with the day's achievements. I was ready to leave for Shreveport again by eight, hoping jeans and a t-shirt were what Pam meant by comfortable clothes.

I had no idea where we were going. We'd spoken briefly on Sunday evening but Pam refused to give me any hints. I'd pointed out an evening of mayhem and bloodshed didn't appear anywhere on my bucket list. She'd chuckled that things had been too quiet without me.

When I parked on her drive, Pam came out wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket. I relaxed; I was appropriately attired.

"Hello, Sookie," she said as she got in.

"Hi Pam. Mind telling me where we're going?"

She grinned. "Not so fast. I'll give you directions."

I filled her in on my plans while I drove. She was encouraging about LSU. As for working in Minden or Shreveport, she only wanted to know where so she could vet the locations. I was relieved: I was prepared to be flexible on where I worked, but I wasn't willing to compromise on my dreams of education. Not again.

We headed west through Shreveport, then turned off the main route into a wooded area that ran alongside the expressway. The long straight road that ran through it was unlit and with no other traffic in sight, I cracked a joke. "Pretty quiet out here. Planning on hiding a body, Pam? If I'd known, I'd have put the shovels in the trunk."

Pam smirked fangily. I knew that would appeal to her.

She had me turn onto a dirt road that ended in a badly-lit parking lot hidden in the trees. The lot served a hangar-style building with a single dim light burning over a side door. There were no signs or markings to clue me in on what was inside. If it wasn't for a few parked cars and the reassuring hum of a half dozen brains inside, the place would have unnerved me. I shot a querying glance at my fanged friend.

"You'll see," she said, still smirking.

When we got to the side door, she rapped on it and a grill opened. Pam said, "Mark."

"Sheriff," said a deep voice in reply. His mind was red and snarly. Werewolf.

The door opened.

Hubba. Hubba.

That was all I could think, until I blinked and sucked back the drool threatening to ruin Mark's first impression of me.

Mark worked out. A lot. He was broad shouldered and his chest strained the faded green t-shirt he wore, a t-shirt that revealed a pair of coffee-coloured arms like knotted tree trunks. With tattoos. That didn't detract from the man's appeal at all. The way the ink stretched when he moved completely distracted me as he led us inside.

He said we had the place to ourselves apart from a game upstairs, but I was barely listening. Pam shot me an amused look and I gave myself a severe dressing-down for objectifying the poor man. I'd hardly spared his face a glance, just enough to appreciate his thick brown hair, blue eyes, and the dimples he flashed when he smiled at Pam.

He opened a door and led us into … Oh. A shooting range.

I turned to Pam with wide eyes. I'd promised to teach her to shoot years ago. We'd messed around with a shotgun, shooting cans off logs in my yard, the way I'd learnt. I'd never been to a proper range. "You need a refresher or something?"

Pam's eyes twinkled. "Oh no. Mark here is an excellent teacher. I took him for a test drive as it were, before I put him in charge of training your guards, keeping their skills fresh. Tonight... I thought you might enjoy a little competition."

"What sort of competition?"

"Between you and me. We'll see if the student has surpassed the master." She gave me a mocking bow.

I snorted. "Hardly seems fair, bloodsucker."

Her mouth twitched. "Oh, don't worry, breather. You'll have easier targets. And Mark will give you some instruction with handguns before we start."

"Okay. You're on."

I enjoyed it immensely. Shooting paper targets was much more entertaining than shooting people, no moral dilemmas or gore involved. Mark supplied us with miked headsets that enable us to talk despite the heavy ear protection, so we kept up a stream of banter trying to psyche each other out. Pam had smaller and more distant targets, and we mixed it up, using different guns and even moving targets by the end. Pam's moved faster, naturally.

The instruction part of the evening was definitely fun too. Mark's body pressed close to mine as he corrected my stance, enveloping me in warmth and that musky smell of man. Yum. Even with that distraction Pam was right, he was a good teacher. I acquitted myself creditably and, much to Pam's annoyance, I even beat her a few times.

It wasn't until we'd finished that I discovered Pam had ulterior motives.

Grinning because I won the last bout, I pulled off my headset and fluffed out my hair. I turned when I heard Pam ask, "She was better with the Beretta?"

"Yep," said Mark, looking over the target sheets. "'Specially with a moving target."

"Good. Ammo as well, please."

"Um, Pam?" I asked. "What's going on?"

She eyed me for a second, waiting for Mark to leave before she spoke. "Guns have their uses. Having one in your car might not have stopped Lattesta last year, but there are situations where one could make all the difference."

"Pam, I don't think–"

"Sookie," she interrupted firmly, "you don't have to use it, but it would be prudent to have one. As a backup, in case the guards lose you again."

I thought about Debbie Pelt. I'd been glad of my shotgun that night, but I didn't enjoy killing. I'd mostly done it in self-defence and even then each life I'd taken had left me with lingering regrets.

"I would suggest a silver knife as well, knowing how effective you are with one." She winked at me as she referred to dispatching Bruno and his friend in the pouring rain. I shuddered at the memory. "But currently the most likely aggressors are the Chosen and bullets will be quite adequate for stopping them."

"Currently? Are they after me again?"

She shrugged. "I don't have any information that they're targeting you specifically, but there have been some … incidents over the winter. In Georgia and here. It would be wise to assume you may be targeted. They have shown interest in you before. And a hand gun would be practical. You can't fit a shotgun in a glove compartment."

I looked at the black, cold lump of metal sitting on the counter. Instead of a tool, a piece of sports equipment, it had just morphed into a deadly weapon. A way to end a life.

Or protect mine. I sighed heavily. "Okay. But I won't use it unless I absolutely have to."

"Good."

My fun evening had turned unexpectedly serious. Pensively biting my lip, I was barely aware I was missing another opportunity to ogle the eye candy when Mark came back with several boxes of ammo and a case for the Beretta I'd been using. He packed it away efficiently, casting a glance or two at Pam.

Glances that, coming out of my dark thoughts, I finally noticed.

Glances that had a certain vibe.

Oh. _Oh_.

I felt myself begin to flush. Oh dear. That warm knot of lust I'd felt from him when he brushed my bare arm earlier – boy, had I misinterpreted that.

Pam looked curiously at me as she thanked him. "I'll walk you out Sookie."

I looked everywhere but at either of them. "Sure. Thanks for the lesson, Mark."

"No worries." He pulled out a card. "Any time you want another, give me a call."

Face warm, I stuttered out another thank-you as I took the card. I grabbed Pam's arm and practically frogmarched her outside. Once we were in the lot I hissed, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" She was amused and she knew damn well exactly 'what'.

"That you and," I waved dramatically at the building, "Mr Bow-flex in there," I trailed off, searching for a suitable euphemism, finally adding lamely, "have something going on."

Pam smirked. "And?"

"I just spent the last hour flirting with him!"

"Dropping that empty clip wasn't an accident?" she drawled, rolling her eyes. "I'd never have guessed."

"But … There is something between you, right?" If she was yanking my chain I was gonna be using my new Beretta real soon.

She shrugged. "We were lovers for a while, the fall before last."

I gaped. Lovers? Pam never called her … diversions that. Usually she called them playmates. Miriam, yes, but they'd been serious. And Mark was so, so … Well, not anything like Miriam that was for damn sure. As far as I knew, Pam's occasional forays into straight sex involved geeky guys like Stan Davis, so imagining her with someone like Mark threw me for a loop. Although maybe that was the point, maybe she'd wanted someone who wouldn't remind her of Miriam in any way, a polar opposite.

Her brow wrinkled. "If you're interested, I could put in a good word. Mark is not as rough as he looks, and he has very talented–"

"Pam!" I yelped. "No. Just no. Friend's exes are off limits."

"They are?

"Yes Pam, they are."

"I wouldn't object. Although I was wondering if he'd be interested in an encore tonight. He really is quite skilled."

"No. Friends don't make moves on each other's guys. And I certainly don't want details."

She eyed me. "It's not the first time we have tasted the same man. Although after my Maker, Mark might seem a little deficient in the stamina department."

I felt my flush return with a vengeance at her reference to Eric. All the way to my hairline. I was out of practise dealing with her frank attitude to things I considered private.

I turned away and marched over to my car, ignoring the quiet chuckle behind me. As I pulled out my keys, I noticed a parked car that had arrived while we'd been inside. A car with two pale occupants. One of them raised a hand in greeting. Thalia.

Was she grinning?

I groaned and cursed their damn vampire super-hearing. She could probably see my face glowing too.

Pam followed me to the car. I glared at her and her amused expression, snatching the gun and ammo from her to stow them in the trunk. She raised an eyebrow. I gestured towards Thalia and her pal, far more deadly than bullets.

She nodded. "Fair enough. It needs to be in the car tomorrow, though."

"Fine."

"Teasing aside, I enjoyed your company tonight, Sookie."

I slammed the trunk shut and looked at her. She was serious. "Me too, Pam. Even if you had my security in mind, it was a fun evening."

No prizes for guessing who taught her that trick, killing two birds with one stone. That reminded me of what Sam told me. Realising I was about to ask a question that might ruin the mood, I sighed. "Pam, have you ever planted bugs at my house?"

She frowned and glanced towards Thalia before stepping closer. "Explain."

"Sam told me a few days ago that he found bugs in my car and at the house, back when," I hesitated, not wanting to bring up a sore point, but pressed on, "Karin was around. Sam got rid of them, but whoever planted them came back and planted two more. At night. He couldn't tell who it was."

"And nothing since then?"

"He never found any others."

She looked relieved. "The team sweep for them regularly. They haven't found any by the house since the wards went up."

I cocked my head. "But they found some somewhere else?"

Pam nodded. "Your car came back from Shreveport infested a few times. We moved the devices to other random vehicles and it stopped eventually. And we found a few at Merlotte's when you were first married."

I chewed that over. Pam clearly wasn't the culprit, but I had to ask. "Those first ones weren't Karin?"

Pam said slowly, "She never said anything. She had free roam of the woods. If they were hers, she would have known the shifter had interfered. She would have mentioned that to me, if not the bugging itself."

So who was it? I couldn't see the weres or the fairies using bugs and their attacks came later. As a tactic it seemed too indirect for the Fellowship and their hangers on.

But not for someone old and patient. "Vampire?"

Pam nodded slightly. "Or agents of. The ones on your car were planted during the day."

I groaned and slumped against the car. That meant de Castro. Or Freyda. Or any number of powerful vamps who desired their own telepath.

"This is old news Sookie, not a recent problem. The team knows what to look for." Pam tilted her head slightly, glancing towards the building momentarily. Then she focused back on me. "Bill's been calling on you."

I frowned. Why was everyone so damn interested in Bill's wanderings? Heck, it was like he'd announced his nightly strolls in the paper or something.

She glanced towards the building again. "I expected he would, in light of the new situation."

I opened my mouth to say … I wasn't sure what. That Bill surely wasn't interested in planting his flag as soon as Sam was out the door. Except that I wasn't real sure why he had paid me a visit. Twice. But if he was after rekindling something with me, why hadn't he been back once the divorce became a reality?

The sound of laughter and voices made me turn towards the building. The door opened, spilling light and bodies out into the lot. A mix of humans and twoeys, joking good naturedly with each other. Reading one of the regular guys told me they'd just finished their weekly poker game. Parting comments were made, car doors slammed and engines started. None of them gave us a second glance.

Pam was looking towards the pickup left by the door. And Mark, who was locking up.

I sighed softly. "He's interested in that encore."

She quirked an eyebrow.

I tapped my temple.

"Ah."

I smiled. "Have fun."

"Oh, I will." She winked and gestured for me to get in the car.

Thalia's car pulled out after mine, leaving Pam and Mark alone in the lot.

On the journey home, I tried not to begrudge Pam her fun or worry about the bugs. For a millisecond I wondered if Sam had been right, if I wasn't happier in the dark. Then I shook myself. I was done hiding my head in the sand. I was going to be the one in control of my life from now on.

…

That attitude propelled me through three job interviews in the next three days, giving me the confidence to turn down the offer that didn't feel right and take the one that did.

That was how I ended up commuting to Minden on Friday, excited to start working nine-to-five at 'Fredericks, Golding &amp; Partners', a local insurance company. It was a temporary position, fitting in with my college plans nicely, and the place seemed perfect. Pam had okayed it too; the office was small and easy to watch.

The office girls – Melissa, Leanne and Jody – were covering for a fourth, who was on maternity leave, and they needed an extra pair of hands, a dogsbody. Covering simple tasks where I was needed meant my lack of appropriate experience was less important than my willingness to work hard.

The office manager who'd interviewed me, Pauline, was a serious, efficient woman with short grey hair. She was predisposed to favour an older woman like me as the previous girl, fresh out of high school, had proved more of a hindrance than a help, and had left on short notice. Pauline was desperate to replace her. Consequently the pay was generous, and I had some insight into how high Pauline was willing to go when I negotiated.

I wasn't above using what I picked out of her head to make sure I was paid fairly.

Leanne, who worked full-time, was in the office when I interviewed. She was early twenties, mousy, with a pleasant face and a gentle disposition. She genuinely thought the best of people and she was one of the reasons I took a liking to the place. When my shields returned to normal, her thoughts would be inoffensive.

I met Melissa, who worked three days a week, on my first day. She was mixed race, slim, attractive and confident. She dressed well, worked hard and didn't suffer fools. When I picked up the filing system quickly, she muttered that at least I wasn't as dim-witted as the last girl. She was a student, studying Art History at LSU, and sharp as a whip. My telepathy told me that underneath her brash confidence she was insecure, worried about making ends meet and about a boyfriend who wasn't ready to commit.

My first day went great. I was thrilled. That weekend I took my placement tests for LSU and sailed through them. I made sure to mention that and my wonderful new job to my friends in Bon Temps so they could congratulate me.

Monday was a new day at the office.

I met Jody.

Jody had been on vacation the previous the week. She was small, dark-haired and sharp-featured. She was a little older than the others, had worked there longest and, not to put too fine a point on it, was a two-faced bitch. Not that I'd know that if I couldn't hear her cruel mental commentary. She didn't compound that with laziness thankfully, working just as hard as Melissa. So that was something.

It wasn't all women. Mr Fredericks, the boss, was a compact, precise man who was always meticulously groomed and dressed. In his fifties with greying black hair, he was distant and formal with the office girls, but he didn't interacted with them much, often out visiting clients or sticking to his office when he wasn't. His partner Mr Golding was the opposite. A kind and portly old man whose suits were rumpled, he always stopped to make small talk with us 'gals' on his way in and out.

Then there was Trent, the guy who delivered our mail.

He was mid-twenties, slim, tall, dark and drool-worthy. There was a lot of hair flipping when he arrived, and a lot of sighing when he left. Even from Pauline, in her fifties.

I found myself fantasising about him three times in one morning. I shook it off. There was little point as he barely noticed me. Dipping in to his mind, I'd seen first-hand how his eyes slid straight over me to linger on Melissa. She, of course, wasn't interested in him. Wasn't that always the way?

It would never work anyway. Human. Touch. I wondered idly if I could borrow one of those fancy necklaces from Pam to block Trent's thoughts and imagined that conversation: Trent, I need to you put this on before we have sex. 'This' being a gold pendant worthy of the term bling, not a condom. I almost laughed out loud at the ridiculous idea. Oh gosh, he'd think I had some strange kink about rappers. No, Trent was not for me. He was too young, I told myself firmly.

Staring dreamily after him the next day, I caught an eye roll from Melissa and shook myself harder. What was wrong with me? First Mark and now this boy.

I put it down to the oestrogen-rich environment and the fact that I'd been effectively single for over a month. My body hadn't gotten the divorce memo. I was craving a little attention, that was all.

That Thursday, my birthday, I got confirmation I'd passed the placement tests. I called Michele and Kennedy to squeal before I left for work and we made plans to celebrate my success and my birthday on the weekend.

Leanne came in to work with birthday cupcakes. I hadn't said anything; she'd spotted my birth date on my application. When Melissa heard that all I had planned was a quiet day with friends, she began coaxing me to go out with them that Friday night, to some new place in Bossier City.

I was new to working in an office, uncertain of the work at times, but enjoying the challenge. For the first time I'd found it easy to make friends with my co-workers, without the spectre of Crazy Sookie haunting me. It was refreshingly normal worrying whether I'd filed the Johnson account in the right place rather than whether I was going to blurt out someone's secrets.

Concern over what would happen when Eric's blood wore off had me sending up a prayer or two that my peace would last a little longer. I wanted to fit in, especially with Leanne and Melissa who I liked. I was different enough already being the new girl, and older, and divorced. Sure, Melissa mainly wanted to go out to forget her man troubles, but she also wanted to get to know me. We had hit it off and I had to admit I was flattered to be asked.

Why shouldn't I socialise with them? I was single. It would help me get to know them.

Melissa grinned when I suddenly caved and agreed to go, partly in defiance of Jody's mental scorn._ She's too old and prissy to party with us._

The flash of annoyance in Jody's hard eyes might have given me pause if Leanne hadn't lit up with the first beaming smile I'd seen from her. She thought it would be lovely to have me to talk to while the others were busy.

That should have clued me in to exactly how hard Melissa and Jody partied.

…

The evening after my thirty-second birthday, at nine o'clock sharp, I arrived at the club. Blue.

Yep, just one word. Blue. Like Madonna.

The lot was half full. I parked and sat in the car, nervously eyeing the distinctly younger crowd congregating around the entrance. The rather traditional dress I'd chosen would just about fit in, I reckoned. It was pale blue, a flattering fit on top, and the soft skirt swirled just right for dancing.

I looked around a few times but I didn't spot the girls.

I was about to resort to a mental sweep when Melissa knocked loudly on my window, grinning when I jumped. I chastised her amicably as I got out of the car.

She was dolled up to the nines: hair up, false eyelashes and glitter on her cheeks. Her short gold dress clung to her curves and she was confident, graceful even, in her dangerously high heels. I felt Leanne's shy admiration for Melissa as we hugged our hellos. Leanne was wearing a flowing green dress that flattered her figure, which tended to huskiness. She pulled nervously at the scooped neckline, feeling exposed.

"Wow, Melissa, you look great," I said, knowing that Melissa needed to hear that just as much as Leanne. She wasn't as confident as she looked. I turned and said genuinely, "You too, Leanne. I just love that dress, where did you get it?"

"Oh, I made it myself," she mumbled in a rush.

"Really? It's lovely." Leanne was blushing, struggling with the praise, otherwise I would have gushed some more. I dipped into her head briefly as I added, "You've got a real talent there."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard that, but she dismissed it as politeness. Lingering in her mind to find out why, I got a glimpse of her mom and a tangle of regret that she'd never become a seamstress. Her mom was sick. Leanne had given up her dream, working to pay for her treatment. I held back a sigh and covered up my sudden rush of sympathy by scrambling in my purse for my keys and turning to lock my car. I had a cheerful smile in place when I turned back around.

"There you are." Jody called from two cars over. Her bright red wrap-around dress set off her dark hair nicely, but it made her figure look as skinny and bony as it was. "Come on, we need to get in line."

We chatted while the line shuffled forward. Melissa and I discussed a movie we'd seen, with Leanne adding a quiet comment or two. Jody rolled her eyes at us and muttered we'd better not talk like that all night, she wanted to have fun.

_That sort of boring talk is why y'all are still single_, she thought snidely. She proceeded to ignore us, opting to make eyes at a guy in line ahead of us. A guy whose girlfriend gave Jody plenty of stink-eye back, but that didn't put Jody off one bit.

Inside the club, almost everything was blue. Yes, it really was – the lights, the décor, even some of the drinks. Someone had picked a theme and stuck with it. Even the layer of mist blanketing dance floor was tinted blue by the lights. Dry ice; there was an unexpected comeback. I thought that had gone out with bad eighties haircuts and shoulder pads.

Not that I was old enough to remember those. Not quite. And there were definitely people my age in the club. Definitely.

The bar was already busy. Melissa shouldered her way to the counter and fluttered her caterpillar eyelashes, coming back with tall glasses of some blue drink that tasted like soda. I sipped mine cautiously. It didn't taste strong. When Jody got bored of yelled conversation and wanted to dance, I gulped it down in a rush to join her.

Clubbing had never been my idea of a good time. With my telepathy I'd never been able to give it a shot comfortably, but for once I was at ease in the crowd, my stronger shields making even the packed dance floor bearable. The longer I danced the more I relaxed.

I began to enjoy myself. I loved to dance. The music was catchy, the beat easy to move to. It was great to let loose for once.

When we took a break, Jody bought a round of shots. I threw mine back with abandon, making up for lost time, those partying years I'd missed out on. A second spin on the floor and we attracted some attention from a table of college boys.

It was my turn to fight my way to the bar. When I got back, I was so thirsty I gulped down my iced tea before I realised the bartender had given me a Long Island. I shrugged, enjoying the buzz. I figured that dancing would burn the alcohol off soon enough. I hadn't intended to drink much, but I could always call a cab if I had to and my shields were holding just fine. God bless Eric's blood.

A few shots and dances later, Jody and Melissa began a competition over who'd go home with the most gorgeous frat boy. I should have been shocked. Instead I was annoyed that I wasn't even considered in the running. Leanne saw my frown and leaned over to whisper-yell in my ear.

"Don't worry Sookie. We'll keep an eye on them. Thank goodness you and me are sensible, hey?" Leanne was determinedly responsible. She'd only had one alcoholic drink.

I leant over. "There's nothing wrong with having a little fun, Leanne."

She frowned. "I guess. I just worry about them."

She was hoping she wouldn't have to worry about me too. I snorted. She needn't bother. I was pretty sure I could handle a few overenthusiastic frat boys. In fact, I wanted to handle that one with the dirty blonde hair and the soulful blue eyes. And damn it, why shouldn't I?

I stood up and marched straight over to his table, full of confidence. I heard Jody gasp behind me and Melissa whistle encouragement. I practically dragged the guy to the floor. He was a good dancer, even if he was too shy to look higher than my shoulder. At least he wasn't fixed on my cleavage.

Unfortunately, touching him revealed he had a girlfriend, one he was real sweet on. When the song was over I let him go back to his friends, watching his tight jeans wistfully. I turned back to our table, expecting some sort of teasing.

None of them were looking my way.

Jody was stalking away towards the bar. Leanne was getting to her feet uncertainly, looking nervously between Jody's retreating back and Melissa, who was tense and unhappy. A guy, dark-skinned and young, was leaning over Melissa, talking earnestly and animatedly. Leanne scurried after Jody as I approached our table, concerned for my new friend.

"Hey, Melissa. Is this guy bothering you?"

She sighed heavily and stood up. "Jonah, give us a minute would you?" She took my arm and pulled me in the direction of the restrooms where it was quieter. I got the gist when she touched me. Jonah was the on-again-off-again boyfriend who'd been jerking her around for six months. He'd just made an urgent plea for them to get back together. She was undecided, tempted but irritated that he always managed to turn up just when she'd decided to move on.

"Sookie. That's my … my ex that might not be so ex. I have to sort this out with him. I feel real bad about taking off on your first night out with us."

"Oh, don't worry about that. You do what you've got to do."

"Thanks. Look, keep an eye on Leanne will you? She's so naive it scares me."

"Sure. Will do."

"And be careful around Jody. She had her eye on that guy you just danced with."

I shrugged. "Don't worry. I can look after myself."

We made our way back to the table where another round of shots was waiting. Jody was all smiles, brittle predatory ones, and Leanne looked about ready to cry. After some apologising and goodbyes, Melissa took off with Jonah.

I brushed across Leanne's mind and saw that Jody had been flirting hard with Jonah while Melissa and I were gone. Leanne had been real uncomfortable with the situation. When Jonah shot Jody down, she'd been madder than a wet hen. Lashing out at the weakest target, as all bullies do, Jody had let loose her sharp tongue on Leanne, criticising her 'homespun' dress, and her figure, asking if she was intent on dying alone in a house full of cats.

Vicious cow.

Leanne just wanted to go home and curl up in a corner.

I picked up a shot and threw it back, never breaking eye contact with Jody as she did the same. Bitch had hurt my friend. Then I leant over to Leanne and said kindly, "Why don't you go home, honey? Me and Jody can look after each other, right Jody?"

It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Leanne let me walk her out to her car. She was sober enough to drive, but she made me promise not to let Jody drive home drunk, which she'd been known to do.

So Jody was senseless and selfish, as well as vindictive. I can't say as I was surprised.

As I went back into the club, I wobbled on my heels. The fresh air hadn't dulled my buzz at all, but my shields were still – what was that phrase form that cartoon?

"My wings are like a shield of steel," I intoned with a giggle, earning a strange look from the bouncers as I passed.

No sense of humour, those guys. And no necks, which was decidedly weird. I shrugged off the stray thought and slapped on my game face.

Jody was waiting at the table with more shots and a challenge in her eyes. I brushed her fingers deliberately as she handed me a shot glass of something green.

_... drink an old lady like you under the table. And no way are any of those fine boys going home with a clapped-out divorcee like you._

I snorted. I was damned if I was going to back down. She was barely four years younger than me and didn't look half as good. Not unless flat-chested bitchy skeletons were to a guy's taste. I downed the shot defiantly, followed by the red one waiting on the table.

We took to the dance floor. I lost myself in the music, losing track of Jody after a few songs too. Not that I cared. She could get off with dirty-blond if she wanted. I'd find someone else. Someone better. I'd show her.

I deserved a little fun.

It didn't really matter who with. Ships in the night, no regrets. Maybe that redhead who couldn't take his eyes off me. Or his friend, tall and dark. I danced my ass off for them, spinning and shaking my hips. Mr Tall and Dark finally grew a pair and joined me. We danced hot and close for a while, touching with only briefly, but enough for me to feel empowered by his rising interest.

He made a move, grabbing my wrist. His fingers gripped hard and I got a rapid reel of disturbing images and gasped in shock. I tried to pull away but he pulled me closer, whispering something crude and disgusting in my ear. I pulled away from him again and this time he let go, his eyes widening as he looked over my shoulder.

I staggered backwards into something solid and a large pair of hands settled on my hips, steadying me. Mr Creepy, formerly Mr Tall and Dark, melted into the crowd faster than butter on a hot ear of corn.

Before I could turn to thank my rescuer, a very familiar voice whispered in my ear: "Good evening, Sookie."

"Eric!" I squealed.

I whirled around so fast that he blinked. I giggled, pleased I'd surprised him for once, and slipped my arms around his waist to hug him. "What's a vampire like you doing in a place like this?"

He smiled faintly. "Would you believe Pam sent me to check out the competition?"

"Oh honey." I licked my lips. "There's no competition here."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Dance with me?" I asked, beginning to sway, deliberately rubbing up against his hard body.

...

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, yes I did just leave it there. But the next chapter is Eric's POV.

I suspect that doesn't make it any easier to wait a week, but at least you've got that to look forward too.


	6. Blue

Thanks for the reviews, and a special thank you to Sephora and other guest reviewers as I can't reply to them. Here's this weeks much awaited chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

**6: Blue.**

* * *

I swung the Corvette around a sharp bend, grinning as her tires squealed. I missed this, the thrill of speeding through the night alone. The Corvette was too distinctive, too well-known. I'd left it behind, knowing I would be back in Shreveport, however briefly, to touch base with Pam.

Last night Pam mentioned a nightclub in Bossier City that she wanted to check out, but she was bogged down with sheriff duties. I offered to scope the place. A new club was hardly a threat to Fangtasia, successfully relaunched in Pam's capable hands, but it gave me a pretext to get out of her hair. I didn't want to be that maker, the one that watched over his child like a hawk.

Not that Pam would hesitate to tell me if I was cramping her style.

Tonight was a rare opportunity to indulge myself. Snatching a spare hour, I was driving my favourite route: out by the Red River, on backwoods roads that twisted and turned. As the trees flickered past in the headlights, I mulled over the last six months, and my new allies.

Integration was key to our survival. Bartlett Crowe had impressed me with his insight into human politics and his willingness to consider any strategy, no matter how bold, to further that goal. I hadn't been exposed to him much before. I liked what I saw so far.

Stan Davis had similar goals, but proposed more cautious means. Whereas Bartlett was dispassionate about the predictable backlash against us since the Revelation, Stan was less objective and often resentful. Understandably so, after the attack on his nest in Dallas and others in his state since. Stan disliked 'pandering to the cattle' as he put it when he was in a foul mood, but the ongoing Fellowship problems in Texas forced him to face the necessity of doing exactly that.

Bartlett argued for deep, substantial changes, not just in the way we interacted with humans, but ultimately in the way we dealt with our own, even hinting at reforms of the hierarchy. Stan, although younger, was more old-school. He favoured cosmetic changes to appease the humans, leaving vampire matters mostly untouched and out of the spotlight.

If Stan and Bartlett were political dynamos, beneath his flamboyant exterior Russell was a shrewd tactician in his own right, as he'd proved at Nadia's trial. His opinion varied with the issue. He favoured curbing violence to meet human laws, but a laissez faire approach to our more pleasurable interactions with humans. Isabel was still finding her feet in Oklahoma and favoured Stan's slower, moderate changes.

There were tensions in the group, disagreements, but remarkably little posturing or petty feuding.

It made politicking almost pleasant.

There was something though, something about Bartlett that had gnawed at me. Spending more time with him had crystallised it into a hunch, one I confirmed with Rory's assistance a month ago.

...

Bartlett invited me to his Eagle Creek residence, in Indianapolis. Located in a secure gated community, the large house was surrounded by thick woods. It was one of Bartlett and Russell's favourite retreats, secluded and private. Isabel couldn't make it, but Stan and Russell were there to hash out some long term strategies.

The local sheriff had been injured, giving Rory a convenient excuse to come along. Not so convenient for the sheriff – Rory commanded a fat fee. Bartlett offered Rory the use of one of his biotech facilities for the healing, as long as he and Russell could observe. They were curious about Rory's ability.

In return, I asked if Rory could accompany me to Bartlett's afterwards, Rory joking apprehensively about nests of vipers.

Naturally, Bartlett was wary of her loose in his home and I vouched for her.

Naturally, he agreed to show he trusted me.

Rory brought a chair for the healing, a heavy contraption with padded silver manacles and chains, very Inquisitorial. The young sheriff hesitated when she saw it, but allowed Rory to strap her into it. Her injured hand was left free, and submerged in a bowl of blood on the table next to her. A feeding tube ran from a canister of blood to her mouth.

The sheriff yelled when Rory started. Russell turned to me in question.

I shrugged. "It is painful."

He glanced back at the sheriff. "With your injuries, how did you …?"

"Ah. A somewhat larger receptacle." I didn't add that Rory had used fae blood. She wanted that kept quiet. Re-growing half a hand required less oomph, and Rory estimated werewolf blood would be adequate for the task.

Safer for Rory too.

The sheriff was pleased with the result. Rory played up her weakness, slumped in a chair. She agreed to the deception readily, not minding if vampires overestimated how drained healing left her. We relocated to Bartlett's house and I carried Rory to her room. It connected to mine, and in the bathroom, amongst her toiletries, she had a vial of her tonic. She took it into the shower and I left her to 'recuperate'.

Downstairs the kings were discussing donors, a less sensitive topic while Rory was around.

Public interest in the way vampires treated those willing, and unwilling, to feed us had reached fever pitch. The BSA were breathing down our necks. Pressure to regulate was mounting, and it was vital we influenced any laws.

That had been the beauty of Fangtasia. Willing humans came to us and, provided vampires exercised common sense and restraint, accidents were few. Vampires were fed, humans had their walk on the wild side and we got richer.

That model had run its course. With Bartlett's encouragement, I was trialling a system of vetted donors and tighter controls. Russell hated the idea. Bartlett was reserving judgement until I'd worked out the kinks. He asked me to report.

I tested my hunch a few hours later, while we were relaxing by the outdoor pool.

I'd discarded several scenarios that might provoke Bartlett into revealing himself. Reciprocating Russell's outrageous flirting was out. If Bartlett had a jealous streak, I had no desire to witness it directed at me. Nothing that would make him doubt my loyalty, either. I picked something safe, something subtle, personal. A simple ruse.

Rory was sitting poolside with Russell, discussing southern France. Stan, Bartlett and I were in the pool some way away, idly discussing investments.

Rory was flawless, pulling off a fang-enticing combination of skittishness and bravado. Not so much of an act perhaps. She _was_ socialising with four powerful vampires, three of whom believed she was fae, able to suppress her scent but still a tasty snack.

Luckily, her abilities made her blood more useful inside her body than out.

Russell's voice floated over: "... smell of lavender and the sea."

"Oh yes," Rory replied. "Provence is such a delight, so _sensual_."

"Quite. A feast for the senses, n'est-ce pas?" Russell leaned in, winking at Rory.

Bartlett was surreptitiously watching them. I smoothed my hair back a certain way, giving Rory her cue. She played with her pendant, signalling she was ready.

I turned to Stan, asking about his oil refineries, but glancing Rory's way a few times, beginning my delicate misdirect for Bartlett. I had plenty of practice in such deceits with Ocella.

Russell delivered the punch line of a very risqué French joke. Rory laughed, delighted, and put her hand on his arm. I gave Bartlett his prompt.

As expected, he showed no outward reaction.

A few seconds later, Rory scratched her ear. Another prearranged signal. Mission accomplished. We behaved perfectly normally from then on and she left an hour later.

Once I got back on home turf, we met up. She assured me that all three kings seemed to trust me – something I hadn't asked her to find out – and that yes, she definitely felt a reaction from Bartlett.

"He was surprised. Very. But it was brief. In fact, his emotions were quite hard to read. Whether that's the way he is, or he has some idea of who I am and what I can do and was deliberately muting them, I don't know."

Oh, with what she'd just confirmed for me, he absolutely might have anticipated her ability. I smiled. "Well done."

"And?" she asked.

I shrugged.

She glared, incredulous. "You're not going to tell me?"

"No." Good. As I'd hoped, she'd been too focused on Bartlett to notice what I'd done to surprise him. If she'd picked up on it, she'd know exactly what I did about him.

"It's not something dangerous, something I should know?"

"No, not at all. It will give me an edge."

Her eyes narrowed. "Over Bartlett. Do you need one? He likes you."

"I may at some point. Liking someone means little to vampires. If he is aware of your empathy, he could have faked that."

She wrinkled her nose. "You vampires are as deceitful as the fae."

"Ouch." I pretended to wince.

She folded her arms. "Next time I won't help unless you play nice and share."

I grinned. Payback was delicious. "Whose curiosity is eating them alive now?"

She snorted. "Yours obviously ate out your heart centuries ago, dead man."

I laughed at her frustration, but I didn't tell her what I'd found out. I kept that to myself, planning to use it to my advantage when I dealt with Bartlett. My time with Ocella would be useful for that, too.

…

I drove into Bossier City, snorting when I saw the club.

Blue.

The neon sign. The paint covering the building.

A tacky gimmick, but one that pulled in trade judging by the parking lot, moderately busy for its size. The vehicles indicated youthful customers, a mix of college students and locals. Shouldn't pose a problem for Pam. The new Fangtasia was aimed at professional thirty-somethings with money to burn.

Inside, the place throbbed with music and shouted conversations. Amongst the usual human odours, I detected the scents of two weres and a vampire I didn't recognise. Probably here for fresh blood.

The bar was a decent length, but packed nonetheless. I made my way over, noting the dark corridor to the restrooms – a flashpoint for trouble and potential drug use – and the predominance of cocktails and hard liquor. The place catered to serious partying, hence the crowded bar.

The drinks would be strong and pricey, or cheap and watered down. Profitable either way, if the customers drank enough and the owners were prepared to clean up the inevitable vomit and fights.

That explained the bouncers' electric blue suits. Easy to spot.

I slipped into an opening at the bar. The female bartender looked me over, taking in my smart shirt and trousers, and decided to serve me next. Smirking, I asked for their trademark blue cocktail and left a twenty on the bar, not waiting for change.

Picking a quiet corner, I sniffed the foul-looking concoction cautiously. Not watered down. They were perhaps building a client base before they started that trick. Blue drinks were risky, though. Fangtasia never carried them because some of this century's Mickey Finns were dyed blue to make spiked drinks obvious.

There would be recreational drug users in this hedonistic crowd.

Unimpressed by Pam's competition, I stepped out of the corner, intending to rid myself of the cocktail before I left. That was when I smelt her.

Sookie.

I froze briefly, and continued forwards to deposit the drink on a vacant table.

I knew she was back in Louisiana. Pam had mentioned it. I had restricted myself to asking, once, if Pam had her security in hand. We had not spoken of her further.

I wanted minimal involvement and had told Pam as much.

Six months ago, when Sookie left, I decided it was past time for me to move on. I'd broken the habit of thinking about her every dawn, a task made easier by the move, my new surroundings. When she did spring unbidden into my thoughts, I'd squashed them brutally, telling myself that even if she survived breaking the join, even if she returned, our paths had no reason to cross.

Reason and logic dictated that I should leave. At once.

But … I hadn't spotted that vampire.

Who might be a threat to her.

Or a guard, more logically.

I should stay long enough to be sure.

Moving to lean against a narrow pillar, I scanned the dance floor, searching for one of my kind in the crush. Instead, the crowd heaved and roiled and there she was, dancing with abandon in a pale blue dress.

An image of Rhodes flashed before me. I stopped myself taking a step towards her.

Desire trumped reason. Scanning half-heartedly, I kept looking back at her, distracted. She was a vision. The way she moved, sensuous, seductive, confident …

Ah.

She was putting on a show for two men at the edge of the dance floor. Older than the mostly college-age crowd, they were watching her intently, exchanging the occasional glance.

The taller one moved to join her and I looked away, searching for the other vampire in vain. No luck. It was too busy. I couldn't see anyone I recognised either. No-one in the crowd seemed to be with her. She had to be here with someone.

The song changed and my gaze was drawn inexorably back to her.

They were dancing very … close.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to watch. Witnessing this could be the final nail. Every bump, every grind, every glance burnt into me, telling me she wasn't mine, would never be mine again.

Finished. Over. Done.

He pulled her to him.

She struggled.

I was moving before I could think, slipping nimbly between the dancers to halt a step behind her, my fangs out menacingly.

He paled, his eyes widening in shock as he let her go. I caught her by the hips as she stumbled into me, retracting my fangs as the human backed into the crowd.

The vampire had given himself away too, darting rapidly through the throng towards her, a fraction after I had, behaving like the guard he obviously was. Our eyes met over her head and he nodded slightly, backing off respectfully. Short, dark hair, dark eyes, swarthy. I didn't know him, but he knew me.

Sookie was staring after her disappearing dance partner. I gave in to an impulse and bent down, my mouth by her ear. "Good evening, Sookie."

She squealed my name and whirled around.

I blinked. She was pleased to see me. Deliriously so. Hugging me, she asked what I was doing and I couldn't hide a wry smile as I answered I was checking out the competition.

For both Pam and myself apparently, but I kept that irony to myself.

Then she licked her lips suggestively and said…

What?

I held myself completely still as she swayed, her arms still around my waist. Shit. I could smell her. Her hair. Her. That damn dress: the same colour she wore at Rhodes, the neckline hinting at the delicious bounty below, the skirt swirling around her tanned legs.

She shimmied against me, grinning. "C'mon Eric. Dance with me."

I gave in. Slipping my arms around her, I began to move. Just a dance. One dance. She hummed and leaned into me, breathing deeply against my chest.

"You smell good," she murmured.

"So do you." It was out before I could stop myself. Fuck. I picked a safer subject as I steered us towards the edge of the floor. "Who are you here with? Tara?"

"No, no. Girls from work. They left. 'Cept Jody, but she's a bitch. Not a twoey, a regular bitch."

"Ah." I tried to put some space between us, but she moved closer. Impossibly close, wrapping her arms around my neck, rubbing against me in all the right places.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, mesmerising me as she stretched upwards. I lowered my face towards hers.

Just one taste. Her lips, her mouth…

No. Bad idea.

I pulled back, resisting when she tried to pull me down.

She got a devilish look in her eyes then. Her fingers began to wind into my hair and she pressed herself against me. She said in a singsong teasing voice: "Eric's feeling shy."

Then she wiggled her eyebrows at me and bounced up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips quick and hard against mine. Her warm breath fanned over me as she bounced back down, giggling.

I smelt alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

"Eric, baby," she purred. "Let's get out of here."

She was drunk. Very drunk.

Of course she was. Sookie never behaved like this. I'd let myself get wrapped up in her and missed it. I needed to get her out of the club. Humouring her, I smiled and bent to whisper in her ear. "Very well. Let's go."

She giggled and slid her hands down my chest, around my waist, giving my ass a squeeze before she let go. Definitely drunk. I slung my arm around her shoulders and began propelling her towards the entrance, flashing a look at the other vampire to indicate he should follow.

One of the bouncers stopped us at the door. "Miss, you know this guy?"

"Sure do," she chirped, patting my chest. "Know him _real_ well if you get my drift. Hey, why's your friend over there got no neck? Was he in some freak accident?"

"Sookie," I chided and rolled my eyes at the guy. "She's had a few too many."

"Yeah. I can tell."

He frowned, looking between us. I lost patience, about to catch his eyes, but then he shrugged and stepped aside. He obviously couldn't tell what I was or he would have been more suspicious. The way she was pressing herself against me probably convinced him I wasn't abducting her against her will.

Thankfully the parking lot was empty. She began to sway halfway across it. In the quiet I noticed her heartbeat was slowed too.

Ah.

I propped her carefully against the Corvette while I unlocked it, then swept her up and put her on the passenger seat. I leaned over her to slip the key into the ignition and had to catch the hand she ran up the inside of my thigh. "Patience, Sookie. Find us some music for the drive."

Pouting, she started fiddling with the radio. I shut the door gently and the vampire morphed out of the shadows as I turned around.

"Gerard LeFèvre, at your service." He bowed and I nodded, recalling Pam had mentioned a French vampire who could pass as a local Cajun. He certainly looked the part, dressed in denim and flannel.

"You are her guard tonight?"

He nodded and handed me a small purse. "Hers," he said, indicating the blonde struggling to remove her heels in the cramped front seat. "She left it on a table. I kept it safe."

"How many drinks has she had?"

"Eight since I took over at nine-thirty."

It was just shy of one o'clock. I'd never seen her have more than two or three in an evening. "Were the drinks out of your sight at any point?"

He froze. Good, he understood. "Merde! Yes. She came outside, to see one of the other women to her car. I came out too, naturellement." He gestured at the lot, indicating the risks it posed. "When she returned, the brunette had drinks waiting."

"Jody," I guessed.

"Oui."

"Is she still here?"

He gave a Gallic shrug.

"Are you alone tonight?"

"Oui."

Fine. Pam could deal with the bitch who was just a regular bitch. "I'll take care of this. Return to Bon Temps. She will be back there before dawn." He bowed. "Wait. Is her car here?"

"Oui."

"Drive it to Fangtasia first. Leave the keys with Pam." I fished them out of her purse for him. I got into the Corvette, wincing at Sookie's off-key singing. I handed her the purse and she stopped to root in it. A minute later we were on the road and I was on the phone.

"Pam. I'll be there in fifteen. I need your office and privacy. Clear the back entrance. Oh, and water. A large jug of iced water."

…

I willed the lights to change, removing Sookie's hand from my thigh for the fourth time. Thank fuck Fangtasia was only another five minutes away. It had been a long ten minutes in the car with her so far. Her behaviour amused me at first, but it had made me increasingly … tense.

"Why don't I help you with that," she purred reaching for my belt.

I caught her hand again. "Let's save the main course for somewhere … more comfortable."

She pouted. "It's a good job I know you're worth the wait, buster."

A second later she leant in and nuzzled my shoulder, running her hand across my chest, playing with the buttons on my shirt. I gritted my teeth, eyes on the lights. She got my shirt open enough to slip her hand inside, warm against my skin. The lights changed and I gunned the car forward, stifling a groan.

She was killing me.

I took the next right and she kissed up my neck, making me shudder. She sucked wetly on my ear and I felt it down to my toes. "Sookie," I growled.

She let go with a pop. "A girl could start thinking you're not interested."

"Driving," I said shortly.

"Don't care. Pull over." She nuzzled my neck again, raking her nails over my chest.

"A bed would be better," I said raggedly. It wasn't put on. Killing me.

"I don't much care where we do it, as long as we have sex."

She bit my neck lightly and my hands tightened on the steering wheel. Fuck. "Sookie…" I breathed. I tried again, louder. "Sookie. You don't want this."

She pulled back, scowling. "Yes, I do. I decided to pick someone. To scratch that itch. " She gestured wildly. "Y'know. Ships in the night, no regrets."

"You will regret this."

Her eyes narrowed and she sat back, folding her arms over her chest. "Not up for the job Northman?" Her eyes trailed down my torso. She shrugged. "Pity. Oh well, plenty more fish in the sea."

She turned to the door, reaching for the handle.

Shit. We were doing forty. I flipped the master switch and the locks snapped shut. My lips twitched in spite of myself. Whatever she'd drunk, it certainly hadn't quenched her fire.

She turned back to me, grinning. "Guess you just swallowed the bait, hook and all."

She slid back over, hands reaching for me. I resigned myself to more torture. Sweet, sweet torture.

…

I pulled up behind Fangtasia, tires screeching. Pam was waiting by the door.

I disentangled myself from Sookie and blurred around to her side of the Corvette, catching her as she stumbled out, barefoot. I steadied her while she leant back into the car to grab her heels and purse, feeling Pam's stare on my back.

Swinging Sookie up into my arms to spare her feet, I strode towards the door. She giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck, whispering in my ear.

Pam's eyebrows shot up when she caught what Sookie was murmuring.

Ignoring her, I swept inside. The waiting room was empty. Pam had done as I asked without needless questions, as usual. I went straight into her office, kicking the door closed before my extremely curious child could follow.

I sat Sookie on the couch and she patted the seat next to her. I poured a large glass of water from the jug on the table, handing it to her as I sat down.

"Drink this before we …" I couldn't bring myself to add something suggestive knowing it wasn't going to happen.

"Start sweatin'?" she offered, smirking. "Good plan."

She gulped the whole glass down, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand afterwards. I took the glass and leaned forward to refill it. My shirt gaped open, completely undone from the car ride. Sookie hummed appreciatively and ran a hand inside it, caressing my chest. My eyes fluttered closed when her nails grazed my nipple. Concentrating on willing my fangs to stay put, I almost crushed the glass.

"You're thirsty. Have another," I said hoarsely, thrusting it at her.

"Mmm. Sure am," she said, her eyes flicking down to my lap, her eyelids drooping. She licked her lips and I stifled another groan.

She drank the second glass more slowly. My fangs throbbed as I watched the movement of her throat. Once she finished, I pushed her gently down onto her back and pressed a kiss into her forehead. "I'll be right back."

"Hurry," she moaned, shifting under me.

Pam was waiting outside, face blank. I closed the door quietly behind me.

"I found her at Blue. Drunk. And drugged."

Her eyes widen. "Fuck. Should I call Ludwig?"

I shook my head. "It looks like a low dose of liquid E. The water will flush it out."

We had teething problems with that particular drug in the early days of Fangtasia, college kids taking it to make themselves more daring. Sookie was coherent and only slightly unbalanced, so she hadn't taken much. It usually wore off in a few hours. If it didn't, I'd have to find someone to watch her after dawn.

"That explains her ... friendliness," Pam commented.

"Yes." Her friendly hands. And mouth. And tongue. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. The sting thinned the haze of desire.

"Did she take it willingly?"

"I think not. Perhaps a co-worker, Jody. It could have been anyone." The dance partner if he'd had a chance. He was quick to flee and it would have certainly made her more … compliant. That thought chilled my blood.

"Fuck a zombie. Gerard. He's new, doesn't know her well. He might not have picked up on it."

"He lost sight of her drinks when she went out to the parking lot."

"Bloody hell," Pam growled. "Thalia was meant to be with him, but I called her here."

"Problems?"

"Dealt with," she said, flicking her hand dismissively.

"I'll sit with her until it's out of her system."

She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be out front."

She walked quickly towards the bar. I leaned against the door for a minute before I went back inside.

Sookie was asleep.

I was relieved and disappointed. It was always contradictions with her.

I fetched a pillow and blanket from Pam's boudoir and made her comfortable, monitoring her breathing. It, like her heartbeat, was only slightly slowed. The drug would be out of her system sooner rather than later. Reaching over, I carefully swept a curl of hair out of her eyes. She muttered and tugged the blanket around her shoulders. The movement drew my attention to her hand.

No rings.

And she was in Bossier City, looking for some ... action.

She'd certainly made quick work of ridding herself of Merlotte.

The thought didn't give me much comfort. Partly because the shifter and I were now members of a very exclusive club of ex-husbands, equally reluctant members I imagined, and partly because it wasn't in my nature to kick a whipped dog.

Sam Merlotte had certainly looked whipped when I saw him back in March.

…

Something had changed about Merlotte's. Not the sudden hush when I walked in, that was the same. I glanced around. Eight people. Pathetic. Monday was a quiet night, but not this quiet, not for the only bar in town. The hatch to the kitchen was shut. Now I was paying attention, the smell of food was old and fading.

Cataliades was right; the bar was dying on its feet. The lawyer had asked me to intercede to protect his client's investment. Sookie's investment. I assumed Niall had asked him to keep an eye on her affairs while she was gone.

I stopped in front of the bar. "Is Merlotte here?"

The woman – ah yes, Kennedy, handy with a shotgun – nodded. "I'll fetch him."

She didn't direct me to his office. When Merlotte appeared I understood why.

He was tense, his jaw tight and his eyes wary. Our interactions before Sookie left had been distinctly acrimonious, so that was no surprise.

The rest of his appearance was.

He was thinner, greyer, with an unhealthy sallow tint to his skin. A sour undertone of sickness lingered in his scent. The bartender didn't want me alone with him; he wasn't capable of defending himself.

From what Cataliades told me he'd been ill for some time. I deduced that was to do with the insidious fae magic between him and Sookie, but I wasn't privy to the details. Rory mentioned that Ludwig had discharged him three weeks ago. I expected to find him recovered. It must have been worse than I thought.

"Merlotte."

"Northman," he answered.

"I have business with you. Private business."

He hesitated and then gestured for me to lead the way. In his office, I took the lone guest seat, ignoring the two desk chairs. And the potted plant, the curtains, the cheerful paint. I knew whose touches those were. She'd made an impression on the room.

He had that much.

Merlotte took the seat behind his desk – the one without a plant, strewn with ledgers and papers.

"What do you want Eric?" he said belligerently. Nodding at the mess he added, "I'm busy."

"That is what I came for." He stiffened and I raised a hand to forestall his protests. "Cataliades asked me to intercede. Your mother was hostile when he offered his help."

He grimaced. "She's had a rough few months."

"Biting the hand helping you off the floor is foolish. Cataliades managed to look through some of that," I gestured at his desk, "before she threw him out."

He set his jaw. "I don't need any help. Things will be back on track soon."

"Really." I leant back and began inspecting my fingernails. "How soon?"

"None of your damn business."

I looked at him sharply. "I am making it my business. If you go under, people will suffer. Tenants out on the street, employees out of work, the community losing this place. They will blame you." And Sookie.

He scowled. "I don't need your help."

"This is not about you or your pride. You revealed yourself. You represent the two-natured to these people. Every negative event associated with one of you sticks in their minds, colours how they view your kind, makes them more likely to listen to the Fellowship's drivel. _That_ makes it my business."

He glared at me for a long minute, and then deflated, his indignation fading. He muttered sullenly, "Fine."

"Good. Cataliades suggested I look at the books for the duplexes as he already examined the ones for the bar."

He stiffened.

"Either show me the books or explain the problem. Do not waste my time."

He got up, muttering under his breath, and unlocked an old filing cabinet in the corner. He dumped four ledgers on the desk in front of me. I flicked through them quickly. Rents were low, but typical for a rural area, the maintenance bills weren't extravagant … Hmm.

"Do you own these units outright?"

He shook his head and wearily got up again. He opened the bottom drawer of the cabinet and pulled out some paperwork.

I looked over it and saw exactly what was sucking the life blood out of his businesses.

"This original loan," I tapped the page, "you were happy with the terms?"

"Didn't have much choice. Round here bank managers like to know your family six generations back, and if they don't …" He shrugged. "Some of us don't have centuries to steal a fortune."

I ignored the dig, pulling out another sheet. "You refinanced with the same bank?" He'd had someone separate the two businesses too.

"Yeah."

"You had been here some time by then, established yourself in the community." I raised an eyebrow. "Why are the terms worse?"

"It was after the Reveal."

"Because you're a shifter." Of course. Vampires had faced similar difficulties when we came out of the coffin.

He snorted. "They fed me some bullshit about bigger risks because the profits dipped when we had the protesters camped out front, but yeah. That."

"There was no other option? A shifter credit union perhaps?"

"You know we don't go in for organisation." He frowned. "Do vamps have a credit union?"

"There are some … mutual arrangements for loans, yes. With better terms than this." I tapped the papers again.

"So," he said reluctantly, "what can I do?"

His back must be hard against the wall to give in so quickly. But then, he had always been amenable to reason before the fairy magic messed with him.

I answered him bluntly. "You have several options. Sell the duplexes, but the market isn't particularly favourable and you need to cover the outstanding loan. Have a proxy buy them, pay off the loan, then refinance somewhere else at a better rate and buy them back. That will be tricky. The IRS or the Bureau might investigate – switching owners back and forth arouses suspicion. The simplest solution is to take on a partner, a cash investor, and refinance that way."

"I don't want your money."

"I didn't offer it," I said drily. "I could use my contacts to find an investor."

"I won't take vampire money."

"So I heard," I said, giving him a cold stare. Idiot. Picky beggars starved to death. Cataliades told me what his mother said about Sookie's _blood_ money.

Merlotte managed to look embarrassed.

I sneered, "Does it have to be true shifter money to get your approval, or are other weres good enough for you?"

"Shifter would be best, but a lone wolf would do." He scowled. "Pack if you have no choice."

I nodded. "Very well. I'll be in touch."

Russell had a contact who was interested. Edward Burrows came into a sizeable inheritance from his in-laws twenty years ago, and had made good investing it in small businesses in Jackson. His family were shifters. Cataliades introduced him to Merlotte, reporting that the meeting went well.

I stopped by the following week. The bar was still dead. It was two nights after the full moon and when I walked in Merlotte was haggard, leaning heavily on the counter. He took me into his office. A nervous waitress came in, handed me a warm bottle of blood and left without a word. Merlotte poured himself some bourbon, his expression distinctly uncomfortable. Were we celebrating?

"Burrows was satisfactory?"

"Yep." He gulped down a slug of his drink.

"Good." I raised my bottle and took a mouthful, watching him. He was agitated.

"Look … I'm only saying this once." He forced the words out. "Thank you."

I shrugged. "You can owe me."

He snorted. "Oh, I know that. But … I was in a jam … and after the way I behaved …"

"Cataliades came to me. Bankrupt shifters are bad publicity for all of us."

He cocked his head. "You didn't do this for him. Or the publicity." The flash of amusement in his eyes faded quickly, replaced by weary defeat. I took another swig of blood while he worked himself up to asking: "Have you heard from Niall?"

Ah. "Not recently." His shoulders slumped. "Ludwig hasn't heard from him?"

He grimaced. "My mom … He came to the clinic once and she … Well, she's not real fond of fairies. He didn't come back."

I smirked. "I would have paid to see that."

"Yeah, it was something, apparently." He ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "You haven't heard anything?"

I shook my head.

Looking down into his empty glass, he spoke softly. "She did it. It's gone."

I held back a thousand questions and let out one word. "When?"

"February." He swallowed. "Bout six weeks ago."

I drained the bottle and set it down. A lot had happened in the last six weeks.

He looked up again. "She said she was coming back."

"Niall thought she would."

"He wouldn't…?"

"No, he wouldn't stop her. If that was what she wanted."

His face showed the same doubts that I had about that. An unaccustomed feeling – was that sympathy? – tempted me to point out that she was likely still recovering, as he clearly was. Squashing that impulse I said bluntly, "You look like shit. Is Ludwig still treating you?"

He flinched and said bitterly, "No. It's just a matter of time. Waiting it out."

"I could ask Miss Kingfisher –"

"She can't help. Not with this." Slumping even further down into his chair, he whispered, "I can't shift."

He looked appalled as soon as the words were out. Sharing his pain went against the primal instinct of all severely injured creatures, driven to slink away into a dark safe place and lick their wounds. Alone. Privately.

I felt exactly the same after Nadia had … Fuck. That was definitely sympathy.

"Will it pass?" I asked grimly, as uncomfortable as he was with this conversation.

"Don't know."

"Ah."

That was a death sentence for his kind. Shapeshifters who couldn't shift walked into traffic. He hadn't given in yet, which showed tenacity. We looked at each other for a moment, an unexpected and grudging respect passing between us.

I stood. "Contact Pam if you need to reach me."

He nodded, reaching for the bourbon.

…

Sookie began to stir after an hour.

I was sitting on the coffee table next to her, deep in thought and shirt fully buttoned. She stretched and sat up, delightfully rumpled. She appeared calm. I waited for some sign the drug was gone.

"Hey. Sorry to crash on you." She smiled warmly, leaning over to kiss me.

I stood up. Not all gone. Or there was enough alcohol left in her to loosen her up, as they say.

She looked confused and then hurt. "What…?"

I put the desk between us and sat in Pam's chair, steepling my hands in front of me. "How do you feel, Sookie?"

"I …I feel fine." She frowned and hesitantly stood up. I watched closely as she walked over to the chair in front of the desk. Her balance was improved. She sat down, looked around and wrinkled her nose. "This … isn't quite what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Oh…" She smiled faintly. "Silk sheets and a lot fewer clothes."

Still uninhibited, freer than usual. Less aggressive, though. It was definitely wearing off.

She looked at me hopefully. "So…do you want to...?"

I had to ask. "What exactly are you offering?"

She hesitated. "A night, I guess. One time offer. No strings."

My eyes lingered on her dress for a moment. "I'm afraid I have to decline."

"Oh. I … That's a shame." she whispered, looking away.

This was a rare opportunity to get some honest answers out of Sookie, one I probably wouldn't get again. It meant taking advantage of her state, but I itched to make sense of things. Get what they called closure these days. Pam's platinum pen was on the desk, the one I'd bought for her and had engraved with '_Sheriff_'. I toyed with it while I came to a decision.

"Will you answer two questions?" I asked quietly.

She bit her lip. "I guess."

I turned the pen over in my hands. "You went to a wedding in Texas. While we were together."

"Yeah. That was a disaster. Poor Deidra, all those dumb protesters."

"Yes. That wedding. What happened between you and the shifter that weekend?" Something had changed between them during that trip. I needed to know what, however painful.

"Oh." She was flustered, looking anywhere but me. "Oh. Well, we went to the wedding together. Obviously. And ran around dealing with the usual supe crap. I told you about that, right?"

My eyes never left her face. "Sookie. What happened between you and Sam?"

A slow blush spread across her cheeks and she twisted her hands in her lap. She looked … guilty. I loosened my grip on the pen, mindful of the urge to clench my fists.

"Nothing," she said sullenly. "Nothing happened."

"Sookie," I warned.

"Alright already! It was just a damn kiss! Barely more than a peck on the lips." She raised her chin, defiant. "It's not like you didn't kiss me plenty worse when I was with other guys. And I only did it because Bernie was watching and Sam had given them all the impression I was his girlfriend."

What? I snapped upright, dropping the pen, a slow churning beginning in my gut. Keeping my voice flat I said, "He told his family you were together."

"Um. Yeah." She fidgeted.

"And you went along with it. While we were pledged." I could hardly believe she let other supes believe she was Merlotte's. Disregarding the insult to me, she must have realised de Castro would pounce on anything he could exploit to challenge the pledge.

"Yeah, but that didn't count. It wasn't real."

She said it so casually. I actually bit my tongue to stop myself interrupting with an angry retort.

"We were all the way over in Wright anyway. It was only Sam's family. Nobody there knew who I was." She smiled to herself. "The kids called me Aunt Sookie. That was kinda sweet."

Meeting his family. That was what had warmed her to Merlotte. Shit. That stung worse than what I'd begun to suspect, which in all fairness didn't fit the Sookie I knew. This did. A family, children, everything I couldn't … I closed my eyes for a second, the blood in my mouth tasting bitter as I swallowed the truth.

"Well, it was just family to start with," she added thoughtfully, "until all the twoeys turned up to help. That was real nice of them. Even Quinn and Jannalynn. Good Lord, that was mortifying. Sam's actual girlfriend turning up like that."

I suddenly knew exactly why Jannalynn had chosen to target me with the fairy-laced Rowe: to humiliate Sookie the way Merlotte had humiliated her. She was a vindictive bitch, that one. Merlotte's disloyalty would have enraged her.

Wasn't that poetic. Jannalynn's idea of vengeance ultimately led to her own death, Sam getting his ass saved by the woman he'd chosen over her, and the wish that saved him binding them together.

Fucking poetic. If I still believed in Norns I'd bet there was one cackling herself to death over the threads she'd tangled into that lovely knot.

Sookie's eyes pleaded with me. "That's all water under the bridge, Eric. Sam and me are done. I didn't love him. Not really. Not that way. So we could…" She stopped, blushed and looked down. She whispered, "You had another question?"

I picked up the pen again, turning it as I searched for the right words. This one … I wasn't sure she'd answer, even like this. She'd be offended by it once she was sober, but she was going to be angry anyway. Hung for a sheep or a lamb, it made no difference.

"You were married for three years. Did you ever turn your husband away?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Deny him the comfort of your bed." _As you did to me so often,_ I added silently.

"Of course not. He was my husband. Well, unless you mean, y'know, when I was indisposed, or …" she trailed off, censoring whatever was on the tip of her tongue.

She was regaining control of herself. Time to move this along. I had ample confirmation that our pledging, our relationship rated far less importance in her eyes than her marriage to Merlotte. The shifter she didn't love.

I stood. "I should take you home."

"Oh, right." She stood too, flustered by the abrupt subject change. She squinted at the clock behind me. "Shoot, it's almost three. Thank goodness I don't have to work tomorrow."

"Quite." I gestured to the couch and waited while she fixed her shoes and grabbed her purse.

She was quiet while I adjusted the seat of her car to fit me, quieter still as I drove out of Shreveport. Ten minutes along the I20 her breathing evened out and I relaxed. She was asleep.

I pulled up in front of her house and watched her for a few minutes, wondering if I'd ever come back here. I didn't want to go inside. This wasn't the house of my lost memories or of my lover. That place was gone. This was Sookie Merlotte's house.

I woke her gently, stroking the hair off her face. "Sookie. You're home."

She yawned and rubbed her face. "Oh, sorry." She fumbled with the door. I blurred around the car to help her out. "Thanks," she said sheepishly.

She got to the front door before she realised I'd stopped outside the ward, at the bottom of the porch steps. She turned back and gave me an uncertain smile.

"I'll wait until you're inside. Check your phone tomorrow when you wake up."

"Sure. I'll do that. Thanks for seeing me home safe, Eric. And, um, thanks for… everything else. Everything. I mean it." She held my eyes for a long beat, hers glistening with emotion. Then she slipped inside, shutting the door gently.

I waited a few minutes, listening to the sounds of her moving further into the house. A tap running. Good, she would need more water.

I looked over towards the cemetery and Bill's house. Did staying near her all this time make him the stronger man, or just a masochist? I didn't know, but I knew I couldn't stay.

I launched myself into the sky, needing the flight to clear my head.

…

Pam was already home when I arrived, half an hour before dawn. She looked up from a magazine when I walked into her kitchen.

"Did you speak to Gerard?" I asked.

"Yes. We'll keep an eye on the woman, this Jody. He mentioned a male."

I nodded, tamping down a ridiculous spike of jealousy.

Her mouth tightened but she carried on briskly. "I won't take any overt action until I've spoken to Sookie. She wants minimal interference with those around her."

"I'll leave that to you. I'm going to rest."

Ten minutes before dawn I was freshly showered and sprawled out on the bed in the room Pam kept for me, pondering the slings and arrows of the night.

I was bruised.

Sookie's words taunted me: _'I don't much care where we do it, as long as we have sex.'_

I said something very similar to her in Jackson and meant it completely. I hadn't cared what made her yield to me, not then, only that she did. Tonight, I wouldn't have taken advantage of her, drugged as she was.

Even if she was sober, I would have refused her.

I did care, very much, why she had sex with me now. I couldn't casually fuck someone that I lo–

That didn't make sense. I'd never had any qualms about taking what was freely offered, whatever my history with the woman.

It occurred to me that I'd only fancied myself in love before. I'd had infatuations, all quickly fading. Obsessions that burnt themselves out eventually. Easy friendships with a physical side that lasted longer. I'd even been content with undemanding women for a decade or so on occasion.

But nothing like this. This lingering … passion. Raw need. I remembered her hands on me and shivered.

Sookie was different.

Well, it was different for me. Her, not so much. Apparently, I was just another ship in the night. One she enjoyed immensely, but didn't want to keep around.

I'd felt her warm affection for me while we were bonded and interpreted it as love. I'd forgotten love came in shades. Perhaps hers had been rooted in the physical, given the way she behaved tonight. After all, it was notoriously easy for humans to become enamoured with vampires for that reason. Hadn't I told her she was spoilt for human men? She had said she loved me, but she was young, inexperienced enough to confuse physical infatuation for deeper emotion.

Was it just lust that drew her to me?

I turned over and buried my face in the pillow, letting out a muffled groan of frustration. What the fuck was I thinking? Now I was regretting being good at something I enjoyed immensely.

My sigh was muffled too. I couldn't regret loving her, however painfully it ended and frankly how close to insanity it had been at times.

I missed it.

I didn't _need_ it. I'd spent centuries without it. I'd been content and I would be again. I would carry on as before. At least I would recognise the hazard if I came across again it. Forewarned, I could avoid it.

I frowned against the pillow. If the bolt struck again, would I honestly dodge it? I wasn't so sure, not now I'd tasted it. That was a strange thought, meeting someone else who invoked the same passion.

_No. Never._

I sat up, shocked by the fierce denial that shot through me.

What? Why wouldn't I? I'd always ridiculed that one special person for everyone drivel. There were too many people in the world for that to be true. My denial, my fucking _feelings_ didn't make sense. It was perfectly possible for it to happen again, with someone else.

Even though the thought made my skin crawl.

No, it wasn't that it couldn't happen. Not exactly. I might _meet_ someone else, but I couldn't … not while I still …

Ah.

I chewed that over.

It rang true.

Rory, just that one time, no repeats. Not that it would have been more than – what was it Pam called it? – friends with boning rights, the complete package – but I hadn't pursued it.

Shit. I couldn't even indulge in a casual flirtation. I flopped back onto the bed, stunned. When it came to matters of the heart, if not fucking, I was a one-woman man.

Did that make any difference?

No. I needed to stay the fuck away from Sookie even more urgently. Far, far away. Let it fade, let it wither.

Even with the painful answers I got tonight, one chance meeting was enough to have me preoccupied with her again. I couldn't afford that. Not now.

I needed to be free of my irrational _feelings _for a woman who would never return them.

...

* * *

Grammar glitches corrected thanks to the eagle-eyed ws caer. And Idylvice (nice name btw). Did not know that phrase had different connotations for Americans!

Anyone spots any more, let me know. Note to self: don't proof read when you're tired!


	7. Scattered Pearls

Thank you all so much for the long reviews - Sephora I wish I could reply to yours! They were all very much appreciated. And now, the morning after...

* * *

**Scattered Pearls**

* * *

Jolted awake by a sense of imminent disaster, I sat bolt upright in bed and gasped.

Ouch. I scrunched my eyes shut. After a moment of soothing darkness, I tried again. Still too bright. Shading my eyes with my hand, I blinked rapidly until the sun-flooded room came into focus.

I was on my bed, on top of the quilt, wearing the dress I picked out for Blue.

What the hell? Had I fallen asleep, missed the whole thing?

The sour taste in my mouth said otherwise. As did my purse and shoes, dropped haphazardly on the chair in the corner. All the signs indicated I'd made it to the nightclub, including my throbbing head. Nonetheless, my mind, fuzzy with sleep and pain, had misplaced the previous evening.

The alarm from my bladder grew insistent. Stumbling to the bathroom I dealt with that, and – with my eyes half-shut, Lord it was bright – grabbed a towel to dry my hands. A dirty towel. I stared groggily at the black smudges on it, blinking in confusion. Then I looked in the mirror.

Oh.

Mascara. Raccoon-eyed Sookie.

I wasn't firing on all cylinders, that was for damn sure. And I was thirsty.

Grabbing the glass I kept on the nightstand, I noticed my cell was blinking, but that could wait. I took two painkillers, gorged myself on cold water, scrubbed my teeth and removed the ruins of my make-up.

Taking the empty glass back, I picked up my cell and found a text from Pam.

**Your drink was spiked at Blue, probably liquid E. It wore off quickly. Should be no lasting effects. Will come tonight. **

I sank onto the bed, and reread it.

Spiked.

Shit. No wonder I couldn't remember.

I shuddered. The thought of being woozy and helpless, a stranger's hands, an unwelcome touch...

I looked down. My dress was grubby. Soiled.

I shot into the bathroom, stripped off and jumped under the shower while it was still cold. Gasping, I scrubbed at my skin with generous handfuls of body wash, the fresh scent of citrus engulfing me.

As the water warmed, my panic dulled. Pam knew. I had guards; they'd intervened. I was safe, intact. I took my time lathering my hair and washing my body again. As my hands worked a comforting rhythm, I closed my eyes. Bright pearls of memory flashed in the dark.

_Standing in the bathroom, a tap running and a towel pressed to my face_. When I got home, I guessed.

_A car window, cool against my face, a dark landscape sliding past_. My car. I wasn't driving. Someone had driven me home. Thalia?

_Leanne and Melissa laughing round a table, music throbbing. _The nightclub.

The fragments came out of order, out of context, pearls scattered from a broken necklace. I threaded them together.

Meeting up with the girls. Dancing, having fun. A round of shots. Dragging a frat boy up to dance with me. Lord, what I was I thinking? I wasn't, the alcohol was thinking for me. I was higher than a Georgia pine.

Melissa left with a guy, her guy. Jo? John? I couldn't remember. That bitch Jody upset Leanne. I saw Leanne to her car, madder than a wet hen. I was going to beat Jody at her little game, I was gonna–

Oh shit.

Find a guy.

I hadn't, had I? I froze, checking myself over. I had all the symptoms of a hangover, but no soreness where things shouldn't be sore. Thank goodness for–

I gasped.

Eric.

Oh hell.

Eric was there.

I got a few more pearls. Dancing with a guy, tall and dark. Him grabbing me, being creepy. Me stumbling back into Eric. Things got hazy then. Eric's arms around me. His smell. My voice, drawling that he had no competition.

Oh dear Lord, I'd flirted with him. Surely I hadn't said that cheesy line aloud? Just kill me now. And what the hell happened next?

Try as I might nothing more came. However hard I wrung out my tired and abused brain, that was where the string snapped. No more pearls. In despair, I pressed my forehead against the cool tiles.

Eventually the water cooled. I got out, towelling myself roughly, angry with myself.

I'd been beyond foolish. Let my guard down just because I'd missed out on partying when I was younger, thanks to my telepathy. I was damn lucky I'd gotten away unscathed. It could have been so much worse.

Pulling on some shorts and a tank, I figured any memory that hadn't been eaten by the drug could be coaxed out by that age-old trick: blithely going about my business until it popped up unasked.

...

I felt human again after coffee, strong and black. Toast, dry and white, settled my stomach. I had a lot to do before everybody arrived. I got busy marinating meat and fixing side-dishes, glad I'd picked up groceries earlier in the week.

That done, I grabbed my sunglasses and headed outside to survey the backyard. It was a glorious day. The grass was a little long, but I didn't have time to cut it. At least the flowerbeds were tidy. Setting out the lawn chairs without Sam was a painful reminder I was single.

Hot and tired, I went inside to dress for company. I splashed cold water on my face at the sink and reached for a towel. Pressing it to my face, the feel of it and the smell of mascara catapulted me into a memory.

_Standing in the dark bathroom, I was sniffling, pressing the towel to my face, trying to stem tears of humiliation. Why, oh why had I tried to kiss him? The way he leapt up before I could even touch him, like my lips were silver. The cold look on his face, the distant way he spoke to me…_

I pulled the towel away, surprised to see daylight.

The fragment was hazy, but the feeling that had me crying, the utter mortification – that came through keenly. Swallowing hard, I bit back a cuss word that would have had Gran picking out a switch.

I'd obviously made a fool of myself. I just didn't know how complete a fool.

With Eric of all people.

I winced, mentally apologising to Gran for planning, even for a second, even drunk as a skunk, to jump into bed with a random stranger. I respected myself more than that. Gran taught me better than that. She would be mortified.

She needn't bother. I was plenty mortified for us both.

Not least because Eric was no stranger. Sheppard of Judea, a stranger would've been a heck of lot less complicated.

And what was with the pathetic Weeping Willa act? Must've been the damn drug. I was a grown-ass woman, not some angst-ridden teenager, easily crushed by rejection. If I offered a guy a night of passion, and the guy turned me down, so what?

It hadn't meant anything. It wasn't a big deal.

Stomping into the bedroom, I yanked open my closet and rooted through the clothes for the pretty pink sundress I wanted to wear. I tossed it on the bed.

Time to put last night behind me. I had a birthday to celebrate.

...

The cookout was in full swing.

Jason and Hoyt, beers in hand, were manning the grill. Over by the woods, JB and Cody were supervising Jay-Jay and Tara's twins, their game of catch degenerating into a chase amid loud shrieks of laughter. Danny, Kennedy and Tara were fetching side-dishes from the kitchen, having banished me to sit in the shade. I was chatting to Holly and Penny. Her guy, Ryan, had barely said two words to anyone, and was clinging to Penny's hand for dear life. I wondered waspishly if he'd let go if she needed to pee.

Rubbing my forehead, I realised my irritability stemmed from my returning headache. This morning's painkillers had worn off. Suppressing a sigh, I excused myself.

Michele was singing a lullaby to Marie Adele as I passed the spare room, and I sighed for real.

I dawdled in my room, needing a break from playing hostess. When I came out, Michele was in the hall, baby monitor in her hand. She hushed me with a finger on her lips, and motioned me forwards. I peeked into the spare room. My niece was fast asleep in the travel cot Jason had set up in there. Michele pulled the door gently shut, and we snuck away to the kitchen.

"Want some iced tea?" I offered.

"Please." She yawned.

I glanced over my shoulder from the fridge. "She sleeping any better?"

"A little. Only woke us twice last night."

"Jason helping out enough?"

"Yeah. Got an hour to myself in the tub yesterday." She smiled. "Put that pamper kit to good use. Thanks for that."

I smiled back and handed her drink to her. "Any time, Michele."

We leant against the counter companionably, sipping our drinks. She cast a few glances my way before she asked, "How did last night go?" I grimaced immediately, and she chuckled. "A little hung-over today, honey?"

I stuck my tongue out at her.

"Oh, hush. I'm jealous. It'll be a good while before I can paint the town red." She was grinning at my misfortune all the same. "So, any juicy gossip about the girls from Minden? I've got to get my kicks where I can."

I snorted. "Well, Jody is a complete bitch, but that's not headline news. She was real mean to Leanne, who wouldn't say boo to a goose. Poor kid. Melissa's got guy trouble but you'll have to wait until Monday to find out what happened there."

"But you had a good night?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Mostly, I guess." I looked down into my glass, swirling the tea and making the ice clink soothingly.

"Something bugging you?"

Yes. Definitely. But I didn't want to get into it. I shrugged.

She nudged me with her hip. "Trouble halved."

We eyed each other. I sighed. I could tell her some, but it was no use getting her, or God forbid Jason if she told him, all riled up over a spiked drink when nothing came of it. "I had too much to drink. Made a fool of myself."

"In front of the girls from work?"

I shook my head.

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "A guy?"

I felt myself flushing. "Maybe."

"Did you–"

"No, no." I flushed even more. "He, um..." Turned me down flat. "He wasn't interested."

"Oh. That's all?"

I gave her a look that said: Wasn't that enough?

"You likely to see him again?"

"Nope." Not unless I moved to Indiana. That was a point. Why on earth was Eric there last night? I had a vague idea it had something to do with Pam. I should ask her to warn me next time he was in town.

Michele shrugged. "Getting drunk and making a pass at some guy in a bar you're never going to see again ain't so bad. If you knew some of the stupid shit I did after my divorce…" She tapped her head pointedly. "Guess you haven't caught any of that."

"No. I try not to pry, you know that."

"Well, I'm not real proud of some of it, but I got over it. No need to beat yourself up about one night, Sook. Everybody's entitled to cut loose now and again."

That philosophy explained how she accepted Jason, womanising past and all.

She patted my arm, and switched her empty glass for the baby monitor on the counter. "Best get out there before the menfolk start chowing down without us."

…

Painkillers and food chased away the last of my hangover, and I began to enjoy my company.

The men talked about baseball, Jason making grand plans for Jay-Jay's Little League career. The womenfolk complimented each other's dishes, swapping recipes and gossip. Even Michele and Tara. They'd buried the hatchet a week earlier when Tara finally got up the nerve to apologise to Jason. By the time the air was cooling and the shadows had lengthened, Ryan had even let go of Penny and was talking to Danny about video games.

I was laughing at one of Holly's mother-in-law jokes – she had a bunch of them, it was the only way not to strangle Maxine, she said – when a car horn sounded from the front of the house.

Jason, over by the tree-line fetching a ball, saw who it was. He jogged back over, scowling straight at me, and announced grimly, just as I read it from his head, "It's Sam."

Conversation stopped abruptly. I calmly put down my plate and wiped my face with my napkin. "No biggie, Jason. I'll see what he wants."

Tara and Jason exchanged a look, both ready to volunteer as my bodyguard.

"Oh no. You guys are staying right here," I said firmly. "I can handle this."

I glared at them until Tara muttered, "Fine."

"The rest of you carry on," I said, and walked away to see what my ex-husband wanted.

Sam smiled tentatively at me from his truck, arm resting on the open window. He waited until I got closer and asked, "Mind if I get out? I won't keep you long. I know you have folks over."

I frowned, puzzled by his behaviour. "Sure, Sam. What's up?"

He switched off the engine and jumped down. "Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to get this to you today."

"No problem."

He headed to the back of his truck and dropped the tailgate. I followed, curious. In the truck bed was a bag of compost, a shovel and an odd shape bundled up in an old blanket.

"What's all this?" I asked.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "I ordered this last year, as a late Christmas present. Forgot all about it until the nursery called me a few months back. Had them keep hold of it as you were away. Figured I'd give you it now, for your birthday. I know it's the wrong season and all, but–"

"Sam," I interrupted softly, "you got me a rose bush?" He knew how upset I was when one of Gran's died last summer.

"Yeah." He swung himself up onto the truck bed and pulled the bundle over, unwrapping it carefully. The rose was covered with soft pink flowers.

I smiled up at him, touched. "It's gorgeous. Thank you."

Sam smiled a little, and side-eyed me. "It's called Fairy. Seemed appropriate. Want me to plant it for you?"

"Sure." He'd come prepared and I wasn't too proud to turn down the offer. I choose a good position, close to the front steps, and left him to it.

Jason was waiting just around the corner of the house. I shooed him away and headed round to the kitchen to grab a container. I wasn't ready to hang out with Sam just yet, but I wouldn't send the man home empty-handed. Not after such a thoughtful gift.

Everybody stopped talking when I got back to the table. I rolled my eyes at them. "He brought me a rose bush. I'm fixing him some food to take home. Y'all never saw a civilised divorce?"

Tara and Jason glowered. Penny and the rest of the menfolk looked uncomfortable. Michele and Holly looked at each other in surprise, but Kennedy just grinned at me. I took my time picking food Sam liked. Everybody was talking again by the time I snapped the container closed. I snagged a beer from the cooler, and headed round the house.

I turned the corner and froze.

Sam's t-shirt was thrown over the handrail by the steps. He was gently stamping down the soil around the rose, the muscles in his back rippling in the sunlight. It was a wonderful sight.

I must have made a noise, because he glanced round. Wiping his hands quickly on his jeans, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, making more delicious ripples. Thankfully I recovered myself while the shirt was over his face and walked over as if nothing had happened. I was not ogling my ex. No sirree. Seeing him shirtless just caught me off guard.

I handed him the beer.

"Thanks." He took a long swig and wiped his mouth. We turned to look at the rose together. "Just water it well for the next couple weeks."

"Sure will. It looks great Sam. Thank you." I leant over and kissed his cheek lightly. When I did, I got a glimpse into his head and gasped. "You did the weeding while I was gone."

"Yep," he said with a satisfied grin. "I know how much you hate doing it."

"Sure do. Thanks for that too." I smiled, pleased things were easier between us. Then Sam ruined it.

"Spending time here… It helped me come to terms with letting you go."

"Oh." Awkward. Very.

He looked down and scuffed the grass with his boot. "So… I heard you got a job."

"Yes. Over in Minden. Office work."

"That's great."

"Yeah. It's nice to be working nine-to-five." Realising that sounded like a criticism of Merlotte's, I rushed to add, "But it means more mileage on the car."

"Uh, yeah." He glanced over at my car, parked beyond his.

My car, parked in the wrong place, out the front, by whoever drove me home. Most likely a vamp. Thalia, knowing my luck. Her scent would be all over it.

I did not want Sam asking why that was.

Attempting to deflect his attention, I rambled on in a bright perky voice. "The girls in the office are real welcoming. Nice girls. Leanne is just lovely, got me cupcakes on Thursday for my birthday. Melissa is great, real spunky and smart too. Real friendly. Wanted me to go clubbing with them..."

Why in the heck had I blurted that out? We'd been divorced less than three weeks. Sam didn't need to hear I'd been out partying, much less that I'd been ready to jump into bed with the first guy who came along. That I tried to kiss Eric.

That was the last thing Sam deserved.

I looked at the rose, the beautiful rose he'd given me. A hot flush of shame welled up my chest and throat, heating my face.

Looking puzzled, Sam opened his mouth to ask a question I sure didn't want to answer, but a ball bounced into view, closely followed by Jason. He bent to pick it up and glared at Sam before he threw it back. Jason, my brother, subtle as a brick. But I was real glad of the distraction.

Sam sifted uneasily. "I'd best be going."

"Sure." I handed him the food. "Thanks for the rose, Sam."

"You're welcome. Thanks for the food. See you around."

…

Once it got dark, Jason and Hoyt let off a few fireworks, much to Cody and Jay-Jay's delight. Thankfully Marie Adele slept through them and no-one got singed, just one of the trees. That had Michele rolling her eyes, muttering that some guys never grew up.

Everyone headed home after that. I put the last few dishes away, keeping an ear out for Pam. I didn't hear her car, but I did feel two voids approaching from the woods. I went to the back door, expecting Thalia to be with her.

The vampire behind Pam was not much taller than me, tanned but paled by his condition, with black hair and dark eyes. He was wearing plaid and denim, in contrast to Pam's smart pant suit and heels. Her work clothes. She was carrying a large purse.

"Hey, Pam."

"Sookie," she said, "meet Gerard, your new guard. He was watching you last night."

I nodded at him, trying to look disinterested. Lord only knew what he thought of me.

Bowing, he said with a strong French accent, "Gerard LeFèvre at your service. My apologies for last night. I followed you out to ze lot and did not see le bâtard who tampered with your drink."

I couldn't help responding to his politeness, and maybe that cute accent of his too. "Oh, don't worry about it. No harm done." Only to my dignity.

"You are very kind." He bowed again. Geez, he was mighty polite for a vamp. Pam gave him a nod of dismissal and he left.

I waved Pam inside. She declined my offer of bottled blood and we settled ourselves at the kitchen table, like old times. She asked, "You are well?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I lost a chunk of last night. Did Gerard drive me back here?"

Pam blinked. "No." She hesitated. "That was Eric."

Oh, wonderful. I groaned, dropped my face into my hands to cover my blush, and muttered some French myself.

"I see you remember something, then."

Every word oozed with amusement. I peered through my fingers at her. Yep, her mouth was twitching. She must've had a front row seat for the drunken Sookie show.

"Would you like me to fill in some gaps?" she offered, eyes twinkling.

"No!" I half-yelled. I really did not want to know. I lifted my face – who was I kidding? She knew I was beet red – and added more calmly, "No. I'm sure anything important will come back to me."

She smirked openly. "Oh, I'm sure. Eric brought you to Fangtasia and watched over you while you were … intoxicated. If you are concerned about that, suffice it to say you know Eric. He is a gentleman."

I snorted. That was barefaced lie. Eric was the exact opposite of a gentleman, so being turned down last night was a sad reflection on the power of my feminine charms. Or his indifference to them, anyway.

"Thanks. That's real comforting," I said, hiding the sting of rejection behind sarcasm. "Did you come out here just to tease the heck out of me or was there something else?"

Pam dropped the smirk. "Liquid E acts quickly. It was probably in your last drink."

I inhaled sharply. "Jody." That bitch. "She got the last round."

"But it was busy," Pam cautioned. "We can't be sure it was her. I will have Gerard glamour the truth out of her, and make sure she leaves you alone."

"No." Jody's ass was mine. I would deal with her. "I'll do a little digging in her head. Find out what happened for sure."

Pam nodded. "Let me know what you find." She stood, brushed off her suit, and pulled a beautifully wrapped gift out of her purse. "For your birthday, breather."

"Pam, you shouldn't have." She really shouldn't have bothered to wrap it so carefully. I had the paper shredded in seconds. I opened the box inside to reveal an LSU assignment diary, a couple of personalised data sticks, and a gift card for the campus bookstore.

"Pam, it's perfect. Thank you." I got up and hugged her, laughing at the face she pulled.

"Sookie. You're creasing my suit."

"Oh, you love it. Wait, did you come in a car tonight?"

"Yes. I parked at the cemetery."

"Stay right there." I fetched a box from my room. "A souvenir from England. I meant to give you it to you that first night, but it wasn't wrapped."

She opened the box, carefully undid the bubble-wrap parcel inside, to reveal an art deco figurine I'd found in an antique shop. I remembered the lamps in her lounge as soon as I saw it and thought she'd like the style. The graceful, and naked, female form was bound to be a hit. Still, I held my breath while she ran her fingers over it.

She broke into a smile. "It's lovely. Thank you, my friend."

I grinned. "I'm glad you like it."

The glow of giving and receiving warmed me until my head hit the pillow.

...

I went to church next morning, in penance for my wild Friday night.

And what a penance it was. The sermon, which railed against the temptations of the flesh, seemed spoken to me alone. I hid my face while the Reverend gave it, my ears burning, very glad I'd sat at the back again.

After the service, gossip centred on a Mrs Lockwood, who was scandalously divorcing her poor, poor husband to chase after a younger man. Translation: her husband came home drunk and smelling of cheap perfume one too many times, and the 'younger' man was a sprightly mid-forties to her early-fifties.

Maxine, who always crowed the loudest when she was first in the know, was talking about a girl at Bon Temps High giving birth unexpectedly. "A bright girl for sure, but no better than her raisin'. I could tell you some stories about her mother that would scare your hair white."

I hurried past her gaggle of eager listeners, missing Holly. Tara and JB weren't there either. The twins didn't do well after a late night and they hadn't left mine until after nine, so that was no shock. Halleigh gave me a warm smile, but she was stuck talking to the particularly overprotective mother of one of her students.

I stood off to one side all alone, consoling myself that being ignored was a step up from being gossiped over. At least no-one was thinking I'd ditched Sam for a vamp this week. Thank goodness that was dying a death. I was beginning to think that damn wish had rippled out wider than I thought.

Oh shit.

Eric drove me home. I offered up a fervent prayer that no-one in Bon Temps had spotted him. That was all I needed, rumours about a large pale blond driving me home in the small hours. A good dollop of guilt hit me when I imagined what that would do to Sam. Cheese and rice, I'd be ashamed to look him in the eye. We'd never make it back to the friendship I wanted to regain.

I was truly relieved nothing had happened between me and Eric. It would only complicate things.

I looked around. Halleigh wasn't going to be free for a while. There was no-one else I had a burning desire to catch up with. Might as well go home and do laundry.

…

I was lounging in the sun that afternoon, making the most of my free weekend, when the house phone rang. I hightailed it into the kitchen and answered breathlessly, "Stackhouse residence."

"Hi, Sookie."

"Amelia." We hadn't spoken since right after the divorce. That conversation had been stilted, and interrupted several times by Felix. I asked warmly, "How are you?"

"Oh, fine," she said in that way people do when they want you to move on and not question it. "You? Doing anything for Independence Day today?"

"Oh, just chilling. Folks are going over to Monroe or Ruston, but I'm all for staying in and getting an early night." If she assumed I wasn't planning on standing in a crowd watching fireworks because of my telepathy, not my disastrous night clubbing, then I wasn't going to correct her.

"How was your birthday?"

"Just grand. We missed you at the cookout yesterday. Thank you for the gift basket."

"I'm sorry it wasn't anything more, but I'm not really up to shopping."

"Is the morning sickness still bad?" I hopped up on the stool and toyed with the notepad and pen I kept next to the phone, in memory of Gran. Something tickled at my awareness, teasingly out of reach, but Amelia's heavy sigh pulled my attention back to our conversation.

"Yeah. And I'm so much more exhausted this time, dealing with Felix on my own."

"On your own?" I sat up, still holding the pen but focused on her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Bob moved out."

"Oh no," I said softly. "How are you holding up?"

"Not great." Her voice wavered. "In fact, it's been a really shitty week. The coven … Bob's very popular and a few of the women … I guess you know how people love to take sides."

"Sure do." Tara, for instance.

"How are you coping without Merlotte's? I can't even imagine you working anywhere else."

"Oh. I, er, got an office job over in Minden." It felt wrong to brag on it when she sounded so unhappy. "Nothing major, just filing, making coffee and answering phones. It's a small place so it's not too _noisy _for me."

"You sound like you found your feet already."

"Yeah, I think so." Just a little problem called Jody to straighten out.

There was a pause, a sniff, and she said, "Everything's such a mess. Poor Felix is so miserable."

"Oh, Ames. You'll get through it." Whatever it was. I couldn't imagine what would make Bob move out.

"I hope so." She tried to laugh, but it sounded painful. "It just sucks when you're in the middle of it."

"Yeah, it sure does. Sam and me …" I turned the pen over in my hand trying to find the right words to comfort her. That mental itch started up again, but I ignored it. "Last November was rough. Things went to hell in a hand-basket real fast. Wanna talk about it?"

"No. No, I'll be fine." Her voice was shaky, like she was about to burst into tears.

I frowned. This was more personal than we'd gotten in a long time, and no easy thing to talk about over the phone. She needed a shoulder to cry on. My heart went out to her and, wanting our friendship to improve, I decided to reach out. "Ames… Do you want me to come down there?"

"Oh. But you just started a new job."

I played with the pen, the phone tucked into my shoulder. "I could come for a weekend."

"Oh. Um … in a fortnight?"

She sure wasn't her usual confident self. Sounding cheerful enough for both of us I said, "Sure, I'd love to Ames."

"Okay. It's a date." she said, sounding happier.

Now I was anxious, worrying about driving in New Orleans, trying to remember where she lived and if there was parking, turning the pen in my hands over nervously. The pen–

"Let me call round," she added, "find someone to cover the store. I'll call to confirm later this week."

"Sure. Y'all look after yourself, Ames."

"You too, Sookie."

She hung up and I stared at the cheap ballpoint in my hand, seeing something else entirely: _a__ silver pen catching the light, mesmerising me as large pale hands turned it over and over._

The vision vanished like mist. I put the phone down.

Was that a memory? It didn't make sense. I was pretty sure those were Eric's hands, but the pen was silver and he wasn't burning … Oh. Maybe it was brushed steel, like the sign outside Fangtasia.

Fangtasia. Pam said he'd watched over me at Fangtasia. It _was_ a memory.

I closed my eyes, barely breathing. A silver pen. Eric's hands. I kept those things in the back of my mind and relaxed, not focusing on them, keeping my centre of attention empty. It was difficult, like trying to see those 3-D pictures you can only see if you cross your eyes six ways to Sunday.

_Eric sitting behind Pam's desk, his face blank and still. His hands, turning and turning the pen. Me, sitting in front of him, fidgeting in the hot seat._

My eyes flew open. Hot seat?

Damn. Lost it. I tried again, willing myself not to react, imagining the scene happening to someone else so as not to interrupt the flow. All I got was a few fragments of a conversation, distorted and hazy, but enough to get the gist of it.

I waited for a second to make sure there was no more.

Then, launched by a hot coil of anger in my belly, I leapt up from the stool.

That jerk! He had the cheek to make me feel guilty about an innocent peck on the lips. How dare he even suggest that I'd been unfaithful after what he did with that were-bitch. The nerve of that asshole! Sticking his nose where it didn't belong, prying into my marriage, asking about things that were private, things that should stay between me and Sam.

And he asked me all that while I wasn't in my right mind, no doubt expecting I wouldn't remember a word of it. Manipulative, high-handed son of a bitch!

I stomped back and forth, banging cabinet doors at random, until I slammed one so hard the crockery inside rattled.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a snit, muttering darkly that Indiana wasn't far enough and sharpening imaginary stakes every time I caught sight of the trees outside. I was still simmering an hour after sunset and in no mood to be charitable to early evening visitors.

Especially not to presumptuous ones. Especially not ones with fangs.

My unwanted caller arrived while I was sitting at the kitchen table, with the back door open to catch the breeze. He didn't toot a horn to announce his arrival, like a considerate ex who appreciated his visit might not be welcome. Oh no, not like Sam at all.

This one came right on up like he owned the place and knocked on the back porch bold as brass. I tilted my chair back, craned my neck and checked the void was who I expected it to be.

Yep. There Bill was on the other side of the screen door, smiling and holding a gift.

Clearly, he reckoned two visits to the front door a month ago entitled him to knock at the back, a level of intimacy reserved for close friends and family, despite the fact we'd barely spoken in the last few years. That assumption irritated me no end.

I stood, crossed the room at a leisurely pace, and leaned against the inner doorway, making no move to cross the porch and open the screen.

"Bill," I said, my tone conveying I was none too happy to be disturbed.

He ignored that and gestured with the gift. "Good evening, Sookie. It's a little late, but I brought you a birthday present."

"Uh-huh. I was about to turn in," I lied, in no mood to spare his feelings. "Just set it on the step there."

Two small creases appeared between his eyebrows. He hesitated, and then said carefully, "I apologise for my absence. I've been away, on business, so I was unable to call on you until tonight. I thought perhaps a walk in the woods to view the town fireworks? We should be able to see them over by my house."

"That's great, but you're plum out of luck. I've had a busy day and I'm not about to go tramping through the woods." I was taking my anger out on the wrong vamp, but I didn't particularly care. The right vamp was four states away and this one was handy.

As rudely as I could, I took a drink of my iced tea, my eyes on him. I noticed his hair, brushed the way I liked it, and the smart-casual clothes he'd chosen, identical to the ones he wore when he courted me for the first time.

Goddammit, Kennedy just might have been right.

He blinked at my bad manners. "You're sure you don't want to come?"

"Yep." I popped the p, too. Bill hated that.

He chewed on my flat refusal for a second before he replied. "Of course. I will leave you in peace, then. May I call on you again?"

Oh and to complete the set, there were the old-fashioned manners he used to court me too!

Anyone would think his king had sent him to seduce me. Maybe de Castro had, now I wasn't Sam's_, _now no supe could call me 'theirs'. How stupid did they all think I was? Bill had barely said two words to me while I was married, and here he was, as soon as I was divorced, putting on the charm. Ugh.

I shrugged, not trusting myself to answer him civilly.

He looked at me for a moment, unblinking. Like a snake. Then he said, "Goodnight, Sookie."

His voice had that rich timbre, full of emotion. Seductive.

I resisted it and said sharply, "Night Bill."

I frowned after him as he melted into the darkness. Just what exactly was he up to?

His gift – a recipe book stand, useful as I'd broken my old one – made his motives no clearer. If there was a hidden meaning to it I didn't get it.

…

* * *

Footnote:

I read up on how liquid E effects memory. I think this is reasonably believable, given that Sookie isn't quite human. I've had a similar experience, medically induced. Scary stuff.


	8. Repercussions

**A/N:** Thanks as always for the reviews. Sorry to take up space here, but briefly answering some guest reviews:

1\. Pam didn't know where Sookie was that night. My bad - I edited out a line of dialogue that hinted at that, trying to shorten Ch6. If anyone wants further explanation PM me.

2\. Exposition or too many sub-plots? That's fair comment, though. This is a long winding story, but I love world-building and all the characters, not just the main ones. I hope that makes it enjoyable to read, but if it's not to your tastes, that's fine.

* * *

**Repercussions**

* * *

The office was closed on Monday, so I hit the sales at the Monroe mall. Kennedy and Holly came with, and we spent the day indulging in retail therapy. I bought a few camisole tops to go with my work outfits and had a look-see at laptops for college, but decided I really needed Danny to translate the jargon for me before I laid out that much money.

Vampires were the furthest thing from my mind, yes sirree.

Even when I spotted two burly Longtooth werewolves shadowing us in the lingerie department. They looked so out of place it made me smile. I'm sure my butch guards weren't real happy about trailing me around the mall, but, hey, they were getting paid good money. Some of it mine.

That night I ate out at Crawdad's Diner with Holly and Hoyt, Kennedy and Danny, and Penny. Ryan was with family, so I wasn't the only spare wheel. The meal was relaxed and enjoyable.

Up until Bill walked in with a well-dressed leggy brunette. I was mighty surprised to see him at Crawdad's with a human companion. Mighty surprised and immediately reminded of his visits to Merlotte's with Selah Pumphrey.

After they were seated at a cosy table for two, Bill glanced over in our direction. He leaned over to say something to his guest, got up and came over. I wasn't impressed with the motives my mind was conjuring up for his actions, but I hid my mistrust behind a tight smile. I was prepared to be polite. We were in public after all.

"Good evening everybody," Bill said. "If you'll excuse me for talking business for a moment…" He looked at Danny. "Did you have any difficulty with those contractors?"

Danny looked a little bewildered. "No, no. They said there'd be no problems."

Bill nodded. "How are you all tonight?" There was a murmur of replies. He smiled warmly. "I heard the food is good here." That got a more enthusiastic murmur of agreement.

"Sam recommended the place to me. I wasn't sure where to bring," he glanced back at the brunette, "Miss Padilla to impress her." He leant forward conspiratorially. "She's a sales rep for a supplier and I want to get a good deal." He twitched his eyebrows meaningfully and then looked straight at me. "Obviously, I don't know what dishes to suggest. What do you think she'd like, Sookie?"

I ignored the unspoken suggestion that I should take a look in her mind. Despite the blatant fake-excuse he gave for coming over, and the obvious way he'd singled me out, I pulled out all my years of acting experience and said pleasantly enough, "Oh, the pork chops are always good. Although Miss Padilla might prefer something lighter."

I couldn't resist a dig at her skinny ass.

Bill glanced down at my almost finished fudge brownie, and then over to his guest. "Hmm. Perhaps." He looked right into my eyes, his softening into that deep warm brown I used to love to drown in. His voice liquid and resonant he drawled, "I've never understood the modern obsession with women looking half-starved. Thank you for the advice, Sookie." Then he murmured, "Bon appétit," to the rest of the table and returned to his guest.

As soon as his back was turned Kennedy mouthed a silent "I told you so!"

I shrugged and went back to my brownie. I wasn't buying the horseshit Bill was selling either. Like it was an innocent coincidence, him turning up with Miss Glossy-Brown-Hair while I was eating with my friends.

Bill was either trying to make me jealous after I'd proved indifferent to his approaches, or Miss Padilla was genuinely just a business contact and he'd gone out of his way to reassure me. I was not invading a stranger's privacy just to find out which. Consequently, I didn't know whether to be appalled that he was using the woman, or pleased he'd at least tried to spare me the jealousy he imagined I felt.

What I really felt was exasperated that he wasn't taking the hint.

We were neighbours, nothing more. Bill's odd behaviour was a real blast from the past, a past I had no interest in repeating. I kept my attention on my friends and away from Bill, determined not to encourage him.

There were curious eyes on me, but they weren't Bill's. Our exchange had caught the interest of several other diners. Their scrutiny made me uneasy and I was real glad to leave.

…

Jody walked into the office late on Tuesday morning, alive and well. Damn. She hadn't wrapped her car round a tree driving home from Blue. Then I berated myself. I'd hate for her to DUI and hurt someone else.

Dipping into her head, I found Jody was hung over, and wishing she'd stayed home. I asked about her weekend, hoping to turn her thoughts towards the nightclub, but Pauline cracked the whip with a sharp look and handed me a stack of files to put away.

I did my sleuthing at lunch. We usually ate in the break room, and that day Leanne fetched us all po'boys from the deli down the block. They were delicious, and there wasn't much talking until we were done eating.

"So, y'all have a good weekend?" I asked, dropping my shields.

"Went to a great party last night," Jody said casually. "Big house, loaded guys. The works." All bravado – she'd been at some dive bar, with a guy who wasn't worth seeing again.

Melissa grinned. From her secret smiles all morning, things had gone well with her beau. She was thinking of him– Jonah, that was his name! – and fireworks. Actual fireworks. They were taking it slow. Aw. Cute.

"My weekend was great," she said. "How was your cookout?"

"Oh, just grand. Sunshine, plenty of food, beer and friends."

"Y'all got home okay on Friday?" Leanne asked softly.

"Sure did," I lied breezily. Leanne was quieter than ever, her confidence knocked hard by Jody's bitchy comments from Friday. I wanted to hug her and punch Jody in the face. Instead, I turned to Jody and steered the conversation to our night out.

"Oh, Jody, I meant to ask – what were those yummy shots called again?"

Her lip curled. "I guess a one stoplight town like Bon Temps doesn't have many fancy cocktails."

I shrugged of her insult, which annoyed her. Good, I wanted her off balance. I asked again. "The ones you got me after Leanne left?"

"Oh I don't …" She squinted, and I pounced on her memories as she tried to remember. "A Georgia Sunset and a Grasshopper."

She was lying, but she was picturing four shots on a tray. Three red and one green.

"The Grasshopper was the green one, right?" I asked, fishing for the rest.

She eyed me suspiciously, thinking what a dumb hick I was. "Well, duh. Sunsets ain't green."

I sat back, hiding my horrified reaction as Melissa asked Leanne if she wanted to see a movie later in the week.

It wasn't Jody.

She had no idea my drink had been spiked. She didn't know what the shots were because she hadn't bought them. Some guy sent them over, asking that the 'pretty blonde' got the green one. She handed it to me without a second thought, and like an idiot I knocked it straight back.

The guy?

Mr Creepy.

I shuddered internally. I flirted with him. Danced with him. Trusting fool that I was, I didn't check his intentions. That glimpse I got into his mind when he put his clammy hand on my wrist was disturbing beyond measure now I knew he'd roofied me.

…

That night, I called Thalia softly from the front porch. She appeared, dressed completely in black again. Maybe it was her favourite.

"Is Gerard here tonight?" I asked.

Thalia gestured over her shoulder and he appeared, nodding respectfully.

"Hi Gerard. Y'all remember two guys from the nightclub Friday night, one tall and dark, and the other a redhead?"

He scowled. "Zey were watching you. Ze dark one, 'e danced with you."

"Yep, those two. Could you find them again?"

"Mais oui. After you left, I ask some questions at ze club. It was zey who messed with your drink?"

"Uh-huh," I said grimly. "I'm gonna call Pam now."

Thalia's fangs shot down. "A hunt." Her eyes gleamed.

"Y'all can't just go around hunting folks," I said firmly. No matter what slime they were.

Thalia snorted. "No-one will miss them. Men who prey on the defenceless are scum."

I opened my mouth to argue and didn't know where to start. I threw up my hands in a helpless gesture, and went back inside the house. This was what I hated about vampire shit, all the blurred lines between right and wrong.

Pam answered her phone on the first ring. She was pleased to hear Gerard could find the culprits. I explained that Thalia was a mite too enthusiastic about catching them. I didn't want any fallout landing on Pam.

"I'll put Maxwell on it. He has contacts in Shreveport PD. Thalia can stay on duty. She will complain but I don't give a fuck." She paused. "Although it's very tempting to let her rip them to shreds. Sadly it's becoming too difficult to hide that sort of thing."

"Pam," I said sharply, "handing them over to the police is the right thing to do."

"The right thing? Sookie, do you think this is the first time those men have spiked a woman's drink?"

"I…" That flash of something ugly I caught from Mr Creepy. "No. Probably not."

"The woman wakes up confused, can't remember what happened, never goes to the police, never gets justice. Once, twice, three times and they have a taste for it. They won't stop until someone stops them."

"But … They should get a fair trial," I muttered sullenly. It was the American way. Due process, courts, lawyers, rights.

"Perhaps. In an ideal world. But in this one the process is lengthy and difficult. Would you testify against them?"

"Yes." I said firmly.

"Even if you faced some two-bit lawyer who will say you were drunk, you were seen dancing with this man and you experimented with the drug willingly?"

I hesitated.

"Now imagine you had been actually been raped. Your way is not so easy for the victim, is it? Sometimes our way is quicker, cleaner." She paused, the vamp equivalent of a heavy sigh. "But we must adapt, as Eric keeps reminding me. I will handle things the human way. I'll keep you informed."

I sighed for us both. This stuff made my head ache. "Okay Pam. Thanks."

She hung up.

Damn. I meant to ask her… Never mind. Eric had surely gone back to whichever bit of Indiana he was sheriff of by now.

I went to bed with a head full of horrors and injustices. I didn't give Jody a second thought.

…

By mid-morning the next day I was tearing my hair out.

The filing was one big snafu. Things I swore I'd filed correctly were missing, or the wrong paperwork was in the file, or the file was empty. When I had to admit to Pauline for a third time that I couldn't find what she asked for, her mouth tightened into a thin line and stayed that way.

Leanne scuttled out to get coffee to escape the tension, leaving me and Melissa sitting on the floor in front of the filing cabinets, surrounded by stacks of files and paper.

"I don't get this," Melissa said quietly, glancing over at Pauline's back. "I know you didn't mess up this bad."

"I don't understand it either."

"Let's just fix it as quick as we can."

We were still sorting and refiling when Leanne came back. Pauline took Mr Fredericks his coffee, and we were just putting the last file away when she came out of his office. I glanced at the clock and frowned. She'd been in there a long time.

She came to a halt in front of me, and I scrambled to my feet, brushing my skirt down. "All sorted out," I said brightly.

Something was wrong. Her eyes were regretful, but her face was stern. Anxious, I dipped into her mind. _It was a gamble taking her on. Such a shame. I hoped..._

"Mr Fredericks would like to see you," she said firmly.

Oh shit.

"Oh. Right." Smiling tightly, I walked down the corridor on autopilot, my hands sweating as every shitty job before Merlotte's came back to me. Bosses that yelled, leered, or were just plain disturbed by me. Melissa's urgent questions and Pauline's sharp answers faded behind me as I stared down at the blue carpet, counting my steps, fighting to keep calm.

Please, let it be just a reprimand. And don't let me lose my temper. Please.

It had been so long since I had been fired.

I wiped my hands on my skirt and knocked. Mr Fredericks, whose head was full of figures most times I'd peeked inside it, was behind his desk, waiting calmly. I took a seat, nervously twisting my hands.

"Miss Stackhouse. The disruption this morning is unacceptable. The business cannot function like this. My office has to run smoothly." He paused.

"I... Of course, Mr Fredericks. It'll never happen again." I said contritely.

"No, it won't." His eyes became sharp and hard. "This is a family business. A decent Christian family business."

"Excuse me?"

He took a handful of photos out of a drawer and spread them out carefully on his desk. "Digital cameras are amazing, aren't they? So handy." He tapped one of the grainy images. "There you are, Miss Stackhouse."

I gaped. Me and Mr Creepy getting up close and personal. Half a dozen shots of us. How in the heck–

"And the pièce de résistance." He slid a photo out from beneath the others as it dawned on me they'd been taken with a phone. Me again, in Eric's arms.

I spluttered for a second, until my temper flared. "Now look here, Mr Fredericks. What I get up to in my own time is none of your damn business. You can't–"

He cut across me, carrying on as if I hadn't spoken. "This one," he said, pursing his lips in disapproval and tapping Eric's face, "is a vampire. Not only are you behaving in an immodest manner, but you're not too choosy about who you do it with, are you?"

Reading his intentions clearly, I said incredulously, "You're firing me because I danced with a vampire at a club?"

"A vampire you left with."

"You can't do that," I snapped. There were rules. Well, proposed anti-discrimination laws that hadn't actually been passed yet.

"I can and I will." He was completely calm. "You're still in your probationary period. The mess you made of the filing gives me adequate grounds to fire you."

"Oh, how convenient," I sneered. Too convenient. I narrowed my eyes and dug into his head as I asked, "Who really messed up those files? Because it sure wasn't me."

"Who else would it be? You do the filing."

He was thoroughly convinced I was a dumb blonde who didn't know her alphabet from her ass. I had hunch the real culprit was whoever took the photos. Waving at them I asked, "Where did you get those?"

I saw her in his head, acting oh-so-reluctant to show him them and blacken my name. "Jody. Of course. That two-faced b–"

He scowled at me as I bit off the insult. Shit.

He was Jody's uncle. He'd never believe she set me up. He thought butter wouldn't melt on her spiteful little tongue. She was his favourite niece, the one he spoilt, the one he treated like a daughter.

"Miss Metcalfe has nothing to do with this," he said firmly. He kept their relationship secret because Jody asked him to, so she could make friends free from accusations of nepotism. Or at least, that's what he thought. I saw, in a flash, that she had him wrapped around her finger, and she just loved whispering poison into his ear, abusing her power over the other girls. She'd done it before, got the last girl fired.

"Oh, this has Jody's fingerprints all over it," I snapped, unable to hold my tongue.

"You brought this on yourself, Miss Stackhouse. Collect your things and be out of the office in half an hour. Pauline will sort out your paperwork."

I blinked back furious tears and tried to sound confident and reasonable. "You're making a mistake. I didn't mess up the filing."

"You're not suitable for the post, Miss Stackhouse. The camera never lies." He tidied away the pictures, offended by the sight of them. "I pride myself on looking out for my staff morally as well as materially. I can't have you influencing the others. Leanne is very impressionable. Now, please leave."

Appealing to him was futile. It wasn't even about anti-vampire prejudice, not really. He wasn't Fellowship or anything, just an old-fashioned Bible thumper who didn't approve of immoral, loose young women. Mr Fredericks had strict ideas about how we should behave. Jody had spun a girls-gone-wild tale about me jumping on every available man and he'd swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

He believed whole-heartedly he was doing the right thing. The Christian thing.

Paternalistic bull, but I'd met enough older men who thought young girls needed protecting from themselves to know it would take an earthquake to dislodge the stick up his ass. Wasn't a thing I could do to change his mind and that made me mad as hell.

Standing up, I spat out, "I wasn't the only one dancing with strangers that night. Your precious Jody is no angel. And that vamp you're turning your nose up at? Someone spiked my drink and he was the one who saw me home safe. He's worth a hundred of you."

My fierce defence of Eric took me by surprise. I might want to stake him for trampling all over my privacy, but he'd kept me safe, and I'd never doubted that. I was furious at my boss's narrow-minded assumptions.

He scoffed. "Don't make a scene, Miss Stackhouse or I'll have you escorted off the premise."

I put my hands on his desk and leaned towards him. "You're a bigot Mr Fredericks, and Jody is a nasty bitch. If you can't see her for what she is, that's gonna bite you on the ass one day." Turning to leave, I added, "Oh, and firing me is your loss."

I let the door slam after me.

If only I hadn't been so grateful for my peace and quiet. If I'd only read the minds around me more often. If only I'd been more wary of Jody.

It was an office for eff's sake. Not a vampire summit. I hadn't expected trouble.

But, as usual, trouble found me.

…

I gathered my things, silent and fuming.

Leanne watched wide-eyed, a hand over her mouth and her eyes shining. Melissa scowled at Pauline's back. As for Pauline, she was busying herself to hide her regret from the others. She hated firing incompetent but well-meaning young women. She liked me and was upset to see me leave. I was too furious with Jody and her stupid uncle to say goodbye. I managed to give Leanne a swift hug, which only made her start crying in earnest.

Thankfully, I'd parked around the side of the building, out of sight of the office. I dumped my hastily packed box into the trunk and slammed it shut, imagining Jody's scrawny neck under it.

It didn't help.

I sagged against the side of the car, adrenaline fading. Cheese and rice. I had to go back to Bon Temps with my tail between my legs. A noise made me look up. Melissa was rounding the corner. She came over and flopped against the car next to me, muttering, "This fucking sucks." She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. "Want one?"

I shook my head. "Don't smoke."

She dragged heavily on it, holding the smoke in her lungs for a few beats before she exhaled. "Stress relief." She took another drag, and said, "I know it wasn't you. Pauline wouldn't listen."

"Thanks for trying." I kicked a pebble, wishing it was Jody's head. It skittered a good way away. "I should have listened. You were right about Jody."

She stared at me. "She's not in today. It would've taken ages to–" Her eyes widened. "She has keys for the office. You think maybe she came in after hours and did all that?"

I snorted. "No maybe about it."

She cussed and flicked the ash off her cigarette, brushing my arm as she did. Without thinking I latched onto her rushing thoughts. She was re-assessing some odd things round the office, remembering Jody took against the last girl after a row. As the ideas coalesced, she became certain Jody had got her fired too. She began making wild plans to pay Jody back, indignant at the injustice.

"Be real careful Melissa," I warned. "She's Mr Fredericks' niece."

"Holy shit."

"Uh-huh. She's a clever bitch, too. It wasn't just the filing. She took photos of me dancing on Friday, convinced her uncle I'm a slut."

She swore again. "I should have warned you. Fredericks is an uptight prude. I thought that was better than my last boss. He was too friendly" she made a grabbing gesture, "if you get my drift."

"Yeah. Been there."

"I'm sorry, Sookie." She dropped the cigarette butt and ground it angrily into the gravel.

I shrugged. "I've picked myself up after more bad bosses than you know. I'll be fine." I half-grinned. "Hey, at least I don't have to divorce this one."

She was shocked. "You married your boss?"

"Yep. Waitressed for him for nigh on ten years."

She tried not to grin. "So … blonde stacked waitress married the boss? Girl, ain't you just a walking cliché!"

I gasped, pretending to be offended.

"Hey, join the club," she said. "Everyone assumes I'm from the wrong side of the tracks, broken home, father in jail, and I'll do anything to get out of the hood."

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. When we stopped, I bumped my hip against hers. "You're so much more than those fools think, Melissa. You're a smart girl."

"You too. Fuck the idiots who can't see beyond my skin and your boobs."

"Don't let that boy of yours jerk you around none, either."

"I won't." She gave me a sly grin. "He's going to have to work hard for me."

"Look out for Leanne too?"

"I will."

I gave her a tight hug. "Y'all take care."

"You too."

She waved as I drove off, and I felt a lot better.

…

My mood darkened on the way home and I landed on Michele's doorstep feeling sorry for myself. I spilled the whole pitiful story over coffee – except the spiked drink and Eric turning up, because that really had nothing to do with getting fired.

After hearing all about Jody and her old-fashioned uncle, Michele commiserated with me and bad-mouthed them in solidarity. Jason was equally pissed when he got home, muttering about lawsuits and court cases, but I had no proof and I just wanted to put it behind me. There were too many idiots in the world to fight every single one of them.

Mr Creepy, on the other hand, would be getting his. That was enough justice for me. An afternoon playing with JJ and cuddling Marie Adele sure put it all in perspective. It was just a job. There'd be another one.

Trouble was finding one wasn't so easy. There was a dearth of jobs in the local papers unless I wanted to work in sanitation or waitress again. I just wasn't that desperate.

I spent the next day at home, eating ice cream and wallowing, cramps adding to my misery. That joy was two weeks late, but I figured crossing to another realm and the stress of divorcing had taken its toll and messed up my cycle.

Amelia phoned that evening to finalise our plans. She asked if I could to get away early on Friday week, and I was vaguely positive. I pretended I didn't mention being fired because I didn't want to bring Amelia down. Not because I was too proud to admit it.

I ran errands on Friday. Same old same old with the sideways looks around Bon Temps, but I ignored it, head held high. I popped in to see Tara at the store, and told her my tale of woe.

She felt bad she couldn't offer me a job, but I was secretly relieved. I wasn't comfortable accepting charity and I didn't think our fragile relationship would survive working together in any case. Things were still rocky between us. She flinched when I mentioned JB in passing, so I certainly wasn't going to ask how things were between them, let alone mention her mystery man Clive. I wasn't ready to spill the beans about running into Eric either.

I spent the afternoon at home, doing chores. Pam phoned me not long after sunset. "Have you read today's Shreveport Times?" she asked without preamble.

"No. I have it right here though." The back pages were spread out over the kitchen table peppered with disappointingly few red circles.

"Page four. I'll wait."

"Okay. Give me a sec." I searched through the loose pages, spotting two familiar faces when I flipped the correct sheet over. My heart thudded. I skimmed the article next to the picture.

...

**POLICE APPEAL: DO YOU KNOW THESE MEN?**

Two Bossier City men, Jake Fellows, 34, and

Mike Rafferty, 37, were arrested yesterday

following an anonymous tip.

A search of Rafferty's home found a stash of

illegal drugs, including rohypnol, the infamous

date-rape drug, and a number of recordings of

sexual assaults on young women.

Shreveport PD is appealing for any woman who

thinks she may have been assaulted by these

men to contact them, anonymity guaranteed.

Counselling and support will be available.

Detective Henson told our reporter: "This is a

major case and we're making it our highest

priority. We're appealing for anyone with

information about these men to come

forward. We don't know how long they were

active, but there may be over a dozen victims."

Neighbour Frank Sheppard, who witnessed the

arrest, said, "The apartment was turned upside

down. Hell of a mess. There were always girls

going in and out. I figured an angry father caught

up with them."

Detective Henson refused to comment when asked

to confirm rumours that Rafferty and Fellows

were found hog-tied and beaten.

...

Sheppard of Judea. I swallowed bile. "How many women, Pam?"

"Enough that they won't be getting out for a long time." Pam sounded grim. "Once Maxwell found out the imbeciles taped everything, it was simply a matter of finding the evidence, setting the scene and Gerard – how can I put it? – scaring them shitless so they'd sing like canaries."

I shuddered. "Those poor women."

"Maxwell's contact will make sure they get help."

"Good, that's good. Thanks for letting me know." I could have been one of them. I had a very strong desire to shower and second thoughts over whether those two men deserved to be still breathing. Maybe Thalia had the right idea.

"I heard about your job." Margaret probably told her; she'd stuck her head in on Thursday when I didn't leave for Minden, worried I was sick.

I summarised what happened and when I'd finished Pam offered, "I could glamour them to reinstate you."

I was tempted for a second. "No, I wouldn't comfortable there now. Mr Fredericks isn't someone I want to be around. Although if you glamoured Jody into being less of a bitch to Leanne, I wouldn't object."

Pam chuckled. "I'd have to lobotomise her by the sound of it."

I remembered the bouncer in Dallas and realised she wasn't joking. "Ugh. Even Jody doesn't deserve that." Unfortunately.

"Yes, it's a shame glamour can't change the essence of someone's personality without damage. If it did, I would suggest someone glamour Leanne a backbone."

"There's nothing wrong with Leanne," I said, defending my gentle friend.

"Jody won't be the only bully she meets."

"Good point." I sighed. The whole business left a bad taste in my mouth. "I guess we can't fix the world."

"No, but putting those two degenerates behind bars has certainly improved our corner of it."

We agreed on that wholeheartedly, but I didn't feel any sense of achievement for my part in that, only disgust and world-weariness.

…

Saturday morning, over a much-needed mug of Wynn's soothing tea, I budgeted for college fees, normal expenses and the sizeable chunk of monthly income I insisted on paying towards my security. I needed to find another job fast, or once college started I'd have to plunder my savings.

Needing one did not make the perfect job miraculously appear.

Reluctantly, I swallowed my pride and worked on applying to less than perfect jobs. Then I cut the grass, which took all afternoon and left me sweating and irritable. Once the temperature cooled, I watered my new rose. Even its lovely flowers and sweet fragrance didn't cheer me up.

I berated myself again for staying tucked up safe behind my strengthened shields, for not reading Jody more often. I'd gotten complacent. It was time to pull up my panties and dive into the nastiness of people's thoughts again. Build up an immunity, toughen my hide to the unpleasantness.

I should have known better than to pick church next morning as the place to start.

_Vampire Bill lives just across from her..._

_Bet it's been going on right under Sam Merlotte's nose this whole time..._

_Explains why Merlotte's so twitchy 'bout the undead..._

Ugh. Why had I decided to listen in again?

So much for Eric driving me home starting gossip. Apparently I should have worried about a few innocent words in a public place. Speaking to Bill in Crawdad's had everyone and his dog believing I'd thrown myself back into his arms as soon as I'd divorced.

Which made no sense. Bill had been there with another woman. But, hey, why let facts get in the way of a good scandal? I was starting to think that damn wish had warped more than a few heads around Bon Temps.

The chatter was particularly mortifying as Sam had shown up for the service for first time since I got back.

He sat towards the front of church and we nodded politely to each other afterwards, outside in the sunshine, but we didn't speak. He was stiff and uncomfortable, no doubt hearing too many whispers with his shifter ears. It was a blessing that was all he could hear. People had no qualms about letting their more salacious ideas about me free in their heads, let me tell you. It was enough to make me blush.

I felt responsible for Sam's embarrassment. There wasn't even anything going on between me and Bill. Frustrated and annoyed, I didn't stay to chat with anyone, afraid I might snap and actually slap Maxine Fortenberry if her tongue wagged any faster.

Running errands the next day, I bumped into Sam at the bank. I was leaving, he was coming in.

"Oh. Hi, Sam."

"Hey, Sook." He looked surprised to see me and stopped uncertainly. "Not over in Minden today?"

"You haven't heard?" My friends, who all knew by then, were a loyal bunch and hadn't talked. I let out a world-weary sigh and admitted, "They let me go."

"Oh." He took in the slump of my shoulders and wisely didn't ask. "Their loss."

He meant it. "Thanks, Sam."

He looked down then, playing with the cashier's bag he was carrying. "I know it's not my business," he glanced up cautiously, "but I heard some talk … about Bill."

My heart sank. I said in a rush, "It's not true. Nothing going on there."

He ran his hand through his hair, and nodded. "I reckoned so from what Kennedy said, but I thought I should warn you there are rumours are going round." He pulled a face. "I guess you know what folks are thinking better than anyone."

I grimaced too. "Yeah. Lucky me, huh? Look Sam, I'm real sorry you have to hear that crap."

He nodded again and said quietly, "It's okay, Sook. I mean … what you said in your letter … it goes for me too."

I wasn't sure what he meant. "Which part?"

Two intimately familiar blue eyes searched my face. I shifted under the scrutiny.

"The part about finding someone else," he said softly. "I'm okay with you doing that. As long as you're happy."

"Oh. I …" I couldn't meet his eyes, ashamed all over again of my half-baked plan to throw my drunken ass at strangers. A sordid one night stand was not what Sam had in mind by 'finding someone else'. And if he knew Eric was involved … Well, he wouldn't be so relaxed about it, that was for sure.

He smiled fondly at my embarrassment, though. "Really, Sook. It's okay with me if y'all are ready to get busy again."

Sam had a shifter's matter-of-fact attitude to physical needs. He was smiling, teasing me because he knew I wasn't so laid back. I didn't like that. I said a little too sharply, "Even if it was with Bill?"

I sensed a blast of jealousy from him as his jaw tensed. "I can't say as he'd be my first choice." Then his eyes clouded with concern. "I meant it, Sook. Be careful around him."

I softened. "Don't worry. I'm done with vampires."

I saw and felt his flash of surprise, but the door opened behind him and a few more folks came in. He glanced over his shoulder. "I best get in line, Sook. See you around."

"Sure, Sam. Y'all take care now."

Outside in the sunshine, I wondered if I'd handled our meeting as well as I could. It was bound to be awkward between us, but things were slowly improving. I felt a glimmer of hope. We might regain our friendship yet.

Bill turned up like a bad penny that night, but I brushed him off when he mentioned that walk, Sam's face fresh in my mind. We had very brief exchange about the parish roads. A short impersonal exchange, the kind neighbours have, just to be sure he got the message.

Bill looked like he wanted to ask me what the hell had gotten my panties in a bunch, but wisely kept any such question to himself. He gave me a resigned nod and left. Good job too, otherwise I might be tempted to tell Thalia he wasn't welcome on my property any more.

The rest of the week was disheartening.

I suffered through two uncomfortable job interviews, determined to 'listen' to everything and avoid another Jody. One at a large hardware store, where I endured a litany of filth from the overweight and overconfident manager who _really_ liked blondes; and one at a quiet craft store in Ruston, where I had to bite my tongue not to respond to the disapproving sour-faced female owner who had me pegged as an airhead the second she laid eyes on me.

No job resulted from either. I shrugged it off, determined to buck their stereotyping and find something better.

But with no luck on the job front by Thursday, I was ready to call off my visit to Amelia, reckoning I should focus on finding work. Then Kennedy and Michele came over for coffee. Kennedy took one look at me and declared I needed to get the hell out of town and have some fun. Michele sealed the deal by pointing out I'd be letting Amelia down if I cancelled. Damn woman knew which buttons to press.

So I got down the suitcases I'd bought from that house clearance and filled the smaller one with enough clothes for a weekend. I was nervous about the long drive, to tell the truth, but I gave myself a pep talk. The new internationally travelled Sookie Stackhouse would take it in her stride.

It wasn't as if I'd be alone.

Wary of heading into vamp-central, I'd told Thalia my plans to visit Amelia the week before. I asked her if I would be safe in New Orleans. The feisty vampire sniffed as if I'd insulted her and muttered testily, "As safe as anywhere else."

Thankfully, Margaret had been much more reassuring when she explained the plan for my safety a few days later. Margaret and one of the Longtooth weres who had family in New Orleans would tag along and cover me in the day, staying out of sight as much as possible. Thalia and Gerard would be around at night. Pam was sure Amelia's place would be warded to the hundredth degree, so I should be safe as houses inside.

I told Margaret I figured that's where we would spend most of the weekend. Amelia needed some TLC, and I anticipated a lot of chic flicks and long talks over copious quantities of ice cream and chocolate.

Of course, I wasn't psychic, so things didn't turn out quite the way I expected.

...

* * *

**A/N:** I did my best formatting the newspaper article. This site doesn't quite support making it a neat column, so sorry about that.


	9. Weekend Away

Thanks for your awesome reviews everybody. I really do enjoy reading them, good and 'bad'. We're off to New Orleans now. Buckle up for the ride.

* * *

**Weekend Away**

* * *

I set off early on Friday morning, singing cheerfully along to the car radio. I took the quiet route to Jonesboro and south through Kisatchie forest, stopping at a roadside diner in Alexandria for coffee and a look-see at my map. Margaret overtook me and pulled in further down the block, understanding I didn't need my hand holding. I pretended I was alone.

After coffee, I crossed the Red River and took the I49 south. An hour later I made the exit for Baton Rouge. I stopped at a fast food outlet there for lunch before I hit the I10. Heavy traffic had me concentrating on the road for the next hour and I tensed when Lake Pontchartrain came in to view. New Orleans was close, and I dreaded its busy streets.

Twenty minutes and a bucket of sweat later I turned into the French quarter, praying Amelia's directions were easy to follow. After few hairy moments with the one way streets I pulled up in front of her house, a converted warehouse with bare bricks and white shutters. It was understated compared to the other house on the narrow street, all painted vibrant colours and embellished with ornate cast-iron balconies.

Giddy with relief, I jumped out and rang the doorbell, my blouse damp against my back. Amelia bounced out with Felix in her arms. She'd grown out her hair since I last saw her and she was perfectly put together in turquoise capris and a crisp white cotton blouse. Felix was adorable, with Bob's dark intelligent eyes and mid-brown hair that I reckoned would darken to match his father's as he grew.

"You made it!" Amelia said, beaming. "I'll open the gate so you can pull in."

I grinned back, hugging her and kissing Felix on the cheek at the same time. "Hi monster! Hi Ames."

The open gate revealed a beautiful courtyard garden, hidden by the high wall. I parked on the paved drive and grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, admiring the secret explosion of greenery and trees. "Wow, Ames. This garden is amazing."

She grinned. "Thanks. It's great for growing _special_ ingredients. Wait till you see the house."

I knew it would be spectacular. Amelia had fallen in love with it as soon as she saw it.

After her father's tragic 'car accident' – which we never discussed, neither of us daring to poke that sleeping dog and risk a nasty bite – Amelia had inherited his lumber company. She kept a majority share, but turned the day-to-day running over to some trusted friend of Cope's who bought up the rest. She sold her father's 'stuffy' suburban mansion and bought this house, her dream home, and a store a few blocks away, in a prime tourist location.

Copley Carmichael's death turned out to be quite a boon for his only daughter.

Amelia gave me the tour. First, the patio behind the house, open to the garden but shaded by a sturdy trellis roof dripping with wisteria flowers. A sunken pond was set in the centre of the paving, surrounded by wicker chairs and potted palms. It was stunning.

Sliding glass doors led directly to a luxurious living room, decorated with bold black and white wallpaper. The red velvet couches weren't to my taste, but were very Amelia. There was a good sized open plan kitchen-diner, which was absolutely spotless, also very Amelia. The girl did love to clean. A corridor with wooden flooring led to the front door, a home office on one side and a small bathroom opposite it. All the while Amelia kept up a constant chatter about the changes she'd made to the house, and I made appropriate noises of appreciation.

On the second floor, Amelia showed me the master suite and Felix's room. The guest room, tastefully decorated in cool greens, was ready for me and I left my case on the bed. Peeking into the large bathroom opposite, I smiled when I saw Felix's toys scattered in the bath.

One side of third floor had been converted into a large playroom for Felix. On the other side of the stairwell there was a locked room. Amelia winked and called it her playroom. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what she did in there.

And, thankfully, I didn't have to hear about her peccadilloes. Amelia's mind had always been difficult to block – like a radio turned to full volume, a constant stream as perky and in-your-face as her spoken words – but that was before my latest dose of Eric's blood. Now I wasn't expending energy to block her. It was as simple as flipping a switch. I was stunned, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. As soon as Felix saw the playroom he wriggled in Amelia's arms, begging to be let down.

"Sookie, can you watch him for a minute? I'll be right back."

Left with Felix, I helped him get out his dinosaurs. He was as cute as a button, telling me their names and making growling noises. Amelia came back humming and opened a hatch I hadn't noticed, in the wall by the stairs. She pulled out a tray of glasses and a jug of iced tea.

"It's a dumb waiter. Saves carrying everything up two flights of stairs."

"That's real handy." And very fancy, I thought enviously. Not that my little house needed one. "I'll just go freshen up."

I came back with their presents from England and a photo album.

With a sad face, Amelia set the bottle-shaped gift for Bob aside. Felix was impressed with his soft toy, even though it was a purple dragon not a dinosaur. Amelia's eyes went wide when she opened hers: a book about Celtic legends, sacred sites and ley lines. "This is perfect, Sookie! Thanks so much."

"You're welcome." I knew she'd love it. She flicked through it, obviously itching to read it but she nodded at the album.

"Let's see the holiday snaps then."

"Thought you'd never ask," I laughed. We flicked through it while Felix played at our feet.

"I'm so jealous. Tintagel. And Stonehenge. Oh, who's this?"

"Oh, that's Wynn. She's," I glanced at Felix and lowered my voice, "some kind of supe. I couldn't read her at all." I told her about the silver sickle, the strange festival, the calming tea. "You don't know what she is?"

"No." She frowned. "Maybe you shouldn't drink that tea, Sook."

"Oh, I don't think …" I trusted Wynn, but I couldn't explain why, exactly. "I drank your herbal teas."

"But you couldn't read her. Thrice killed. That's ancient. Older beings … they have their own agendas."

"I guess." Like Niall. The topic made me uneasy.

Soon it was time to eat. We cooked fried chicken and greens together, just like old times. Well, except for wiping up after Felix. Amelia was her usual upbeat self, but every now and then she stared off into space, lost in her thoughts.

…

After Ames put Felix to bed she offered me wine, but I declined. Alcohol and I weren't on speaking terms yet, after Blue. She fetched a jug of iced tea and two glasses, and we went outside. She flicked on some fairy lights that gave the patio a soft glow, their reflections winking in the pond, and we curled up on the wicker chairs. It was peaceful, the evening murmur of the city muffled by the wall and the trees.

We chatted about mutual friends, Maria Adele, Felix. I asked her how her other baby, her store, was doing.

"Oh, pretty good." She waved her glass. "It's hard though, juggling Felix, the store and my craft."

Her punishment for Bob's transformation was long over, but I wondered if that black mark lingered. Relaxing my shields slowly so I could adjust to her loudness, I asked, "How's it going with the coven?"

"I'm a fully fledge member now. It's a good group, friendly." _Or it was until me and Bob~_ She focused abruptly on her drink._ I wish this was wine._

I figured if she didn't even want to think about Bob, I wouldn't pry. She'd tell me when she was ready. "Is it going well, the magic?"

"Oh yes," she said with a bit of the old Amelia enthusiasm. "Nathaniel is a wonderful mentor. He's taught me a lot."

"Nathaniel? Oh, Octavia retired, didn't she?"

"Yes. Nathaniel took over the coven. He's very experienced. And the store has been real useful."

"It has?"

"Sure. We buy as well as sell. I get first pick at house clearances because I pay top dollar. Lots of old houses full of weird stuff in New Orleans. That's how I found those grimoires. The store is getting a reputation for sourcing rare, hard-to-find items. Brings people in." _It's how I met~ _She coughed, and gestured with her drink. "It's increased my standing in the coven, given me some influence in the wider supe community."

She sounded eerily like Copley. "Oh. That's great. Um, what sort of spells are you learning now?"

"Oh, locator spells. Anything from lost keys to lost people." She sighed. "I don't have the knack for them, but they make money." S_o boring. I wish Nathaniel would let me move on to something more exciting._

"Does it pay well?"

"Sometimes. Did an ectoplasmic reconstruction a month ago. That was very lucrative." _Although the client got a b__it more than he bargained for, poor Mr~_

An odd hitch. That was the only way to describe it: a hitch in the flow, a stylus skipping the groove on a record. Her thoughts jumped to how useful her business acumen was for the coven. The others were all a bit useless when it came turning a profit, in her opinion. Copley's entrepreneurial spirit definitely lived on in Amelia.

I asked cautiously, "You don't do, um, curses or anything bad?"

She raised her eyebrows at that. "It's mostly protective magic. Locator spells, luck charms. Property wards like yours are very popular. Nothing harmful, no negative energy." _Except for~ I should ask about her trip._

There it was again. Amelia had few sips of tea. "So, the join … How did that happen?"

Her mind was galloping a mile a minute with questions. I winced at the cacophony, but I wanted to hear what she thought, so I gritted my teeth and kept my mind wide open. Thinking of Tara and the gossip in Bon Temps, I said, "Before we get to that, do you know if my wish could affect other people, not just me and Sam?"

"I guess it's possible, depending on the wish."

"Oh." Damn. It was a long shot, asking Amelia. I should really ask Niall. "Well, the join was kind of side effect."

With wide eyes, she asked, "How did you set the terms?"

"That was the problem. I didn't." Not exactly. I was too embarrassed to admit to my witchy friend that I'd wished Sam would never leave me, and so the join made poor Sam stick to me like glue.

"That's some powerful magic to be unlimited." _No wonder she had to get it removed. Lucky Niall was around. I don't know enough about fae magic to know where to start. Nobody does. Secretive assholes._

"Yes, and I didn't know I'd created it."

I told her about Rory Kingfisher, how she looked fae but wasn't, and how I'd seen the join, or rather Rory's mental picture of it. Amelia was fascinated. She thought Rory might be a dryad, or some other rare branch of the fairy races, but she wasn't sure.

"That's really cool though," she said, "seeing your own aura like that." _Spells that reveal auras are__ high level stuff. This Rory chick must be powerful._

"It wasn't though. My aura, or whatever it was, wasn't a pleasant sight. Rory said I was fighting the join. Poor Sam couldn't." I went on to describe some of the ugliness it created between Sam and me, ending with the fight after I'd been to Fangtasia.

She gasped, her thoughts a jumble of sympathy and horror. "He almost shifted on you? Oh my God."

"Yeah, it was pretty terrifying. The join was tearing him apart."

"So … the old gal with the mojo …" She was thirsty for answers, questions popping up so fast they were log jamming.

I smiled at her eagerness – it was so Amelia – and briefly described the main points of my trip to visit Eastorhild, her eyes getting bigger with every detail.

When I finished, she gave a low whistle. "Holy shit, Sookie. You crossed the veil. To another realm. And this woman, I don't know what the heck she was," _or __even if you saw her true face, maybe that was only one __of her aspects, maybe she's a demi-god or something, _"but that was a sacred pool. And the tree. That's a real old ceremony, tying offerings to trees."

"The whole time difference thing was weird as a three dollar bill too."

"Oh, that's pretty standard for other realms, time running differently," she said with authority, as if she 'crossed the veil' all the time. "Look at all those fairy tales about men coming back and ageing three hundred years on the spot."

"Lord, that's an awful thought. Thank goodness that didn't happen."

She eyed me thoughtfully. "Maybe it did. You were only gone six months."

Somehow the idea that my body had aged months I hadn't lived through made me feel cheated. Six months gone, all the possible moments of joy or sadness or plain old living life that I should have had stolen, vanished. That didn't please me at all, and neither did the question forming in Amelia's mind.

"So, I guess once the magic was gone, you and Sam…?"

I sighed and hugged myself. "I feel awful about the whole thing. It stole his free will. He started to hate himself over how it made him act. Plus the magic made him real sick while I was away, not that Niall warned me about that." If I sounded bitter, it was because I was.

Amelia's thought echoed mine exactly: _Damn secretive fairies._

"All the fighting drove you apart then?" she asked tentatively._ Guess she threw in the towel, couldn't forgive him for the violence, even though it wasn't Sam's fault._

I defended myself. "No. It was more than that, Ames. I never should have married him. It wasn't right."

"Why?" she asked softly. _Oh God, please don't say you never got over Eric, that he was the one. Like Tray was mine._

I shook my head. "No, it's got nothing to do with Eric." She smiled sheepish, realising I'd heard that. I took a deep breath. "Sam's a good man, and I turned to him because I didn't want to be alone. It was a mistake to do that, take advantage of the way he felt. I was looking for security. I guess I settled for that."

"Oh. You mean …"

"Yeah. I didn't love him. Not like that." It was a relief to admit it. "But he was my best friend, Ames, and I screwed that up. I really miss him."

_I know exactly how that feels: real shitty. _"I'm sorry, Sook. I'm sure if you give him some time Sam will come around."

"I hope so."

We both sighed. I looked out into the night. As my focus shifted outwards, I felt a void within range. I leaned forward, peering at the roof opposite us in the faint moonlight. Amelia gasped as a silhouette, small and fast, disappeared below the roof-line.

"It's just Thalia," I reassured her.

"Thalia? That Greek vamp from Fangtasia?"

I explained briefly about my guards. I hadn't wanted to get into the whole thing over the phone. Amelia was mildly affronted that I didn't think her wards were enough protection, but mostly she was curious about how I came to have them.

"And this is Pam's idea?" _How naive is she? This has Eric written all over it._

I bristled. "Yes, Eric set it up, but that was years ago. Eric is busy living his own life now." Back in Indiana, and good riddance after he stuck his nose in my business while I was high as a kite. "He has nothing to do with it. Pam's in charge and she does a damn fine job."

Amelia frowned. "Is that a good idea? I mean–"

"Yes." I cut her off, simultaneously slamming my shields shut. I didn't want to hear 'Sookie don't let those deaders walk all over you'; I got enough of that in Bon Temps and from Sam. "Pam is a good friend, and those guards have saved my life half a dozen times over the last few years. I'm not stupid, Amelia. I know what I'm doing." I stood up abruptly. "It's late. I'm going to bed."

I made an exit, but my anger burnt out fast. It wasn't like I wanted Eric in my life, and Amelia was just worried for me, getting mixed up with supes again. I was concerned too, but I noticed the risks hadn't kept Amelia from practising her craft, and she had Felix and another on the way to consider.

What was sauce for the witch was sauce for the telepath, I reckoned. She better accept my choices. I wouldn't tolerate her second-guessing me.

…

The smell of coffee drew me downstairs the next morning. Ames was smiling fondly at Felix as he ate a banana and babbled away to himself. She had a big mug of what smelt like ginger tea and she was nibbling some crackers. Morning sickness was a breakfast thing for Ames.

"Morning Ames. Hi Felix."

"Hi Sookie." He beamed at me. "Dada coming."

"Oh, that's great Felix." I gave him a big smile and glanced at Ames, who was suddenly busy pouring coffee and thinking song lyrics. Bob was still a touchy subject.

By the time I'd finished my coffee and was more alert, Amelia had cleaned Felix and his high-chair in a whirlwind of efficiency and he was settled in the lounge watching a video. She leaned on the counter and took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about running my mouth last night. I know you can look after yourself, and I'm sure Pam takes your safety seriously. I just assumed you were happier away from vampires and all the supe stuff. I won't bring it up again."

"Thanks. Apology accepted Ames." I smiled and she smiled back, relieved. Until I asked tentatively, "So is Bob …?"

"Oh." She looked away. "He's coming to pick Felix up for the weekend."

"Oh." Not coming home then.

"He's taking him to visit Grammy and Papa." That was what Felix called the couple who raised Bob, actually his aunt and uncle. Ames made an effort to smile. "Felix loves staying with them. So I'll be free to show you the quarter today, if you like?"

"That would be lovely, Ames. I didn't have time for sightseeing last time I was here." On my honeymoon with Sam. I grimaced and Ames gave me a shrewd look, as if she was the telepath.

"Okay. We'll spend the day playing tourist then. And maybe an evening out?"

That sounded swell to me. I said enthusiastically, "Sure, Ames. Dinner and a movie?"

"Actually … This is a bit awkward. I have tickets for a club. It's very exclusive. Everybody in the coven is desperate to get in, and I should really go for the networking." She took a breath. "It's a supe place. If you don't want to go, I'll understand."

"Oh. Vamp owned?" I had no idea who had replaced Victor in New Orleans, but de Castro's last choice of regent didn't fill me with confidence.

"No. It's run by a witch, a demon and a twoey."

"That sounds like the start of a joke: a witch, a demon and a twoey."

She laughed. "It's marketed as somewhere supes of all kinds can meet peacefully to socialise and make business deals. Of course, there's a strict no violence policy."

"Of course," I said dryly. I hoped the noble intentions meant it was a cut above Club Dead at least. "What's it called?"

"Sanctum."

I hesitated. She was on tenterhooks. I could hardly say no after I'd been so insistent that my guards kept me safe. "I guess one night wouldn't hurt." I hoped, but I planned to call Margaret and give her a heads up to be sure anyway. "Humans are allowed right?"

She looked a little confused. "Sook, I'm more human than you are."

"Oh. I guess you are." Before I could think on that, Felix interrupted us with impeccable timing, demanding a drink.

…

Ames was upstairs packing a bag for Felix when the doorbell rang. Felix's big brown eyes flooded with excitement, and he grabbed my hand to tug me off the couch. I scooped him up, tickling his stomach on our way to the door.

"Shall we see who it is, monster?" I threw the door open.

Felix squealed, "Dada," and threw himself at Bob.

Bob enveloped him in a hug, brushing my arm as I passed Felix over. A blast of his anguish and longing almost made me gasp. Felix squeezed his daddy's neck tightly and Bob mumbled, "Hi, champ. You ready to go?"

"Dada. We go Grammy's?"

Bob pulled back and gave Felix a brilliant smile. "Yes, we're going to Grammy's." Then he tore his eyes away from Felix and looked at me, his smile fading. "Hi Sookie." _Fuck, this is awkward. Does she know?_

I closed my mind to his and put on my best smile. "Hi Bob. It's nice to see you."

I carefully didn't ask how he was. The bags under his eyes and his pallor told me he was hurting bad. Amelia was too. What on earth had happened?

"Dada? Go?"

"Felix, you need your bag," I reminded him gently. Bob was standing on his own doorstep, making no move to come in, kissing his son and ruffling his hair. "Amelia's just packing it. Would you like to come in Bob?"

I didn't need telepathy to see the anger in his eyes. "No. I'll wait here, thanks."

"I'm sure Amelia wouldn't mind." Heck I had no idea, but it seemed silly to keep him on the step.

"Yeah, I'm sure she wouldn't. But I would." There was a new hardness to his tone. Even after he'd been a cat for weeks, he wasn't this angry with Amelia. I was suddenly real glad Sam had had time to acclimatise to our divorce while I was away.

Felix was agitated, picking up on Bob's mood. I reached out instinctively to calm him, rubbing his back. Bob, reminded his son was in his arms, nuzzled his hair and began telling him their plans for the day to distract him.

"Sookie, I'm just putting this by the door." Amelia's shout came from behind me, followed by approaching footsteps.

When she saw me with Bob, she panicked, scuttling towards us and saying breathlessly, "I didn't hear the door."

"I'll just, um … go and …" I backed away, and took myself off into the lounge, out of earshot.

Ames was pale and red-eyed when she came in ten minutes later. She threw herself down on the couch, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose noisily. I watched her warily from where I stood at the windows.

"What happened Ames? You don't have to tell me, but you sure look like you need a shoulder."

She looked so uncertain that I couldn't resist a quick peek.

_I don't know if she'll understand, but she's right. I have to talk to someone or I'll go crazy, and it's not good for~ _Her thoughts broke off and she put her hand over her belly. She closed her eyes, gathering herself, and I resolved to be as compassionate as I could.

"You better sit down." Her voice was quiet, shaky. "Can you stay out of my head while I do this?"

I nodded, sitting down next to her.

"Thanks." She took a deep breath. "It started a year ago. Things had been … not right for about a year before that, but I put it down to having Felix, and working all hours to get the store up and running. Bob was great about that, quitting hairdressing to help out." She swallowed. "Probably resents that now."

I patted her hand real quick, making a comforting noise.

"We argued, but not often. Bob's so easy-going. All this," she gestured at the room, "is me. The store is me. He never complained about any of it, but I didn't give him much say in it. I only realised that this last month without him. He's gone, but not much has changed. Only Felix, who misses him terribly."

"Oh, Ames. I'm sure you didn't mean to –" I stopped myself from saying ride roughshod over what Bob wanted. "You have goals, Ames, you're ambitious. He chose to be supportive of that. If he left because he resents your success–"

She shook her head. "No, no. I don't think he even noticed I made all the decisions until things went to hell. Bob's not at all selfish." She added quietly, "Not like me."

I didn't like seeing her so down on herself. "Go on, Ames. I'm listening."

"Like I said things had gotten strained, cooler. In the bedroom, too." She looked down at her hands. "We went to a party, last summer. One of my old girlfriends was there, we were all drinking, and well… I asked her to join us. Bob didn't object."

Holy crap. I fixed my face to show polite interest not total shock, but Ames looked up and winced. She knew me too well.

"I know you don't really understand … that stuff. And I'm not asking you to. Just … I didn't do it to hurt Bob. It was a wild hair, and Bob enjoyed it too. That time. We talked about it. We both thought I'd been repressing my desire for women, and if I needed to … express it occasionally … Bob said he was fine with that. Things got better for a few months."

My eyes must have been like saucers. If my casual conversation with Bill at Crawdad's had Bon Temps so churned up, this sort of thing would incite a feeding frenzy. Out of my depth, I licked my lips. "So, did you …?"

She nodded. "About three months later, we … With a different girl. I didn't want Bob thinking I was still hung up on an ex."

We. With Bob. "You didn't … on your own?"

She flushed. "The deal was, only if Bob was there."

"Oh." Nope, I had nothing else.

Amelia sat up straighter. "Maybe you're right to disapprove. I thought it was harmless fun, just spicing things up. But you know what? If it was Tray, I wouldn't have looked twice at anyone else, male or female."

My eyes filling, I said softly, "Oh, Ames."

"Don't feel sorry for me yet, you haven't heard the worst." She took a breath and then the words tumbled out of her. "Six months ago a guy walked in to the store. Handsome, broad-shouldered, rough around the edges. He's a mechanic, a werewolf."

Like Tray. And Bob was furious with her. I had an awful thought. "Oh no," I breathed, but Ames didn't hear and pressed on with her confession, as if she couldn't stop.

"His name's Ty, Tyrone. We hit it off and basically I'm a cowardly, selfish bitch. We – I won't dignify it by calling it an affair. It was just sex. We snuck around for a few months and – oh, you'll love this: he's married too, three kids – and we both knew damn well that neither of us wanted to get serious. And then," she blinked back tears, "the worst thing happened. I got pregnant."

"Is it…?"

She laughed bitterly. "I don't know. But I finally had to grow a pair and tell Bob."

Gran kept her affair with Fintan secret from Mitchell, swallowing the guilt to protect his happiness and keep her marriage intact. It wasn't right, but it saved Mitchell a lot of heartache. "You didn't want to … keep it quiet?"

She looked at me sadly. "If it's Tyrone's it's going to be pretty damn obvious."

Oh. Got it. Tyrone wasn't white. Harder to disguise than Gran's quarter-fairy children.

"Bob was devastated. I've never seen him so angry. He's still furious. The only reason he hasn't divorced me already is Felix and the chance this one might be his too. I haven't the heart to tell him we should just get it over with." Ames sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I made the same mistake you did, Sookie. Whatever we had isn't half of what I had with Tray. It fizzled out ages ago. Maybe if I'd never met Tray, maybe if I didn't know better … Bob's so kind and we had this crazy physical attraction, but it's not enough."

Eric, that fire between us that burnt hot and fast. Sam, a friendship that should never have been more. Channelling Michele and Kennedy and Pam I searched for some wise words.

"If you're not right for each other it's better to cut your losses sooner rather than later. Bob will be happier, in the long run." Poor Bob. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "And you deserve to be happy too, Ames. You'll find another Tray." I squeezed her hand.

"Maybe." _Don't believe that. He was one of a kind. Didn't know what I had._ She sniffed loudly. "Thanks, Sookie. And thanks for listening. You're a real friend. I... I'm going to go shower."

"Sure. Take your time." I figured she needed to be alone. To be honest, I needed some solitude to absorb what she'd told me too.

…

Amelia showed me round the quarter, covering up her distress. If my tour guide's mask slipped occasionally and her smile wavered, I could hardly blame her.

I knew she'd done Bob wrong, but I couldn't condemn her for breaking her vows. Rationally I knew I should, but I'd forgiven Gran worse, and at least Amelia hadn't compound her transgression with years of lies. All my heart knew was that my friend was hurting, Bob was hurting, Felix was upset and Amelia was facing raising two children alone with no family support. No need to make a bad situation worse. I did my best to be cheerful and enthusiastic for Amelia's sake.

That wasn't so hard. I could see why she'd picked the neighbourhood: the fantastic boutiques. The one at the end of her street sold amazing shoes, and the vintage clothing stores one street over were wonderful. I fell in love with one called Curvaceous Kitten and splurged on a new outfit that fitted my curves beautiful. The quirky stores were my favourites though, full of colourful masks for the masquerade balls in Mardi Gras season, and the most unique jewellery I'd ever seen.

My feet were aching when we got to Jackson Square with its beautifully groomed park. I watched the horse-drawn carriages passing by with longing. Café du Monde was busy, but we lucked out and got a table outside by the railing. Amelia's pregnancy made her sensitive to smells and she needed fresh air. We pigged out on beignets, the fruits of our shopping spree spread around our feet.

"So, you want to see the store this afternoon?" she asked.

"I'd love to." I was curious to see it. I licked sugar off my fingers and took a big gulp of my iced coffee, glancing over my cup at the sidewalk. A tall figure was striding towards us, his head bobbing above the crowd. A bald, tanned, familiar head.

I lowered my drink slowly, frowning. I hadn't seen Quinn since he'd turned up at my house out of the blue a year ago, seemingly with the express intent to rile Sam. I had a sudden urge to hide.

He broke into a huge smile when he saw me, and came right over.

"Hello Amelia. Sookie, what are you doing here?" His eyes locked on mine and I wished I'd kept my sunglasses on.

"Hi Quinn. Just here for the weekend," I gestured at our bags, "doing some shopping. I could ask you the same." I opened my shields a crack, focusing on him.

"Here for a job." He leant on the railing, stooping over. "I heard about Sam. How is he?" _… bad business, hard on his family … _

Oh, he meant Sam's 'coma', not the divorce. "He's good."

"And you?" _Where were you last winter?_ He sent that to me, clear as day.

"Fine, thanks." Frowning slightly, he opened his mouth to repeat himself verbally, so I added, "I've been away. Got back about six weeks ago."

Still frowning, he said, "Yeah? I stopped by the house in January. Jason said you were overseas."

Feeling predominately concern from him, I softened. "Yeah. England. With family."

He searched my face and said quietly, "You in trouble?"

"No. I'm fine, Quinn." I wished that wasn't such an easy conclusion for him to jump to, based on past experience. Our trek through the swamp last time we were together in New Orleans, for instance. Sighing, I brushed a strand of hair off my face.

Quinn's eyes narrowed, fixing on my hand as it moved. Oh hell. Conscious of my empty ring finger, I tucked my hand out of sight, under the table. Too late. His eyes flicked to my face and bored into mine. His emotions swirled too fast to follow, but I heard: _When? How? Did Sam…?_

He didn't know. Perhaps he didn't have an ulterior motive for bumping into me this time.

"Something happen between you and Sam?" he asked cautiously.

"You could say that. We're divorced."

His jaw clenched, and he was lost for a reply.

Amelia came to the rescue. "Are you in town long, Quinn?"

I sat back, happy to let her take over the conversation.

Quinn shrugged his muscular shoulders. "Just a few days."

She leaned towards Quinn, dropping her voice. "I heard Belle Chasse was up for grabs. Is that what you're here for?" _That pack needed a new leader. Last time I was out there for a ~_

"Yeah. Yesterday." Quinn was irritated.

"Did it go smoothly?"

Quinn shrugged. "You know what they're like out there." S_ome hairy shit, but it was better than~_

Strange. That hitch again. I doubt I would have noticed it in Quinn's snarly mind if I hadn't been around Amelia since yesterday constantly picking it up from her.

Amelia gave Quinn a wink. "Well, you're still in one piece."

"Yeah, no-one messes with me," he said grimly.

"So … you heard about that swanky new place?" There was a hint of smugness in Amelia's voice.

"Yeah."_ I wonder if … _A slow smile spread across Quinn's face. Now his attention was off me, I could appreciate how it made him look. Quinn was a handsome man. I saw a hotel lobby in his mind, and Quinn, full of curiosity, opening an envelope. Between that and his smile I wasn't really listening to what Amelia said next.

"I have invitations for tonight."_ Please don't ask__ if Bob's going. Please._

"I've got one too," Quinn said, smiling. "You ladies need an escort by any chance?"

"Sure, that'd be lovely," Amelia said, smiling_. "_You could pick us up at, say, nine? Let me give you my address."

She pulled a card out of her purse. Realising what had just happened while I was busy _appreciating_ Quinn, I glared a warning at her. She ignored me and handed him the card.

"Thanks. I have to get going. Enjoy your lunch, ladies. I'll see you tonight."

He shot me one last smile, warmth in his pretty violet eyes. I stamped down hard on the thrill it gave me, but Amelia gave me a knowing look as he left.

Folding my arms I said, "Why d'you invite him along Ames?"

"What? It was a spur of the moment thing. I'll feel better if he's along for the ride. Trouble does have a habit of finding you, Sook."

Exasperated because I knew she had a point I snapped, "You better not be matchmaking again, Amelia Broadway."

She shrugged, but her eyes twinkled. "I'm not asking you to marry the guy. It's not like he'll be sticking around. He's just passing through."_ Where's the harm in having a little fun? She's single._

"Ames! I don't do one night stands." Not successfully. I flushed, thinking of my last catastrophic attempt. With another ex too. I wasn't ready to date.

"Maybe you should. Got to get back on the horse at some point." She chuckled. "Or the tiger."

…

I forgave her when she suggested a carriage ride. We saw the sights in comfort, and got off in an area with some … interesting stores. We visited a lingerie place run by a friend of Amelia's, with lovely silk and lace underwear out front and a back room full of leather and things that made me blush; a store full of gems and crystals run by another friend; and another store where they made herbal remedies to match your symptoms and horoscope.

"Oh, we have to go in here." Ames grabbed my elbow, and pointed at the sign.

The Upturned Cup: tea shop and psychic readings.

Inside, tourists drinking tea and eating cake took up most of the tables. A large Creole woman was sitting at a back table, laying out tarot cards for a client. She certainly looked the part, in her colourful prints. Dark hair escaped from her headscarf, and she was wearing heavy hooped earrings and several thick gold necklaces.

Amelia waved at her and smiled. "Great, Rosa is here. She does the best readings."

Rosa waved us over when she was free, bracelets jangling on her thick arms. She was human, as far as I could tell. Her voice was rich and warm. "Amelia, how are you, chickadee? You want a readin', or is it your friend?

"Go on Sook, it'll be fun," Amelia said."

I went along with it without much enthusiasm, drinking the strong tea while Rosa chatted to Amelia, then up-ending the leaves onto the saucer like she said. Rosa stared at the pattern. Then she looked up and gave me a big wink.

"Don't look so worried, chile. I don't bite."

I smiled tightly, a crazy smile. Either Rosa had her own brand of crazy, or she was in it for money, or … Well, if she really saw the future, I didn't want to know. I stayed out of her head.

"Hmm. You've travelled far. A long, long way. Risky trip." She looked up, her deep brown eyes crinkling kindly. "Almost a world away, eh?"

I nodded cautiously. Next to me Ames sucked in her breath and held it.

Rosa trailed the tip of her pinkie through the wet tea leaves. "You stand at a fork, a cusp. Two paths before you. One is easy, but," she raised her pinkie, dark leaves sticking to the glittery pink nail varnish she was wearing , "choose the rocky one and it will make you stronger, bring you lasting joy in the end."

I looked at the saucer, but all I saw was a soggy mess. Her words echoed that feeling I had leaving England though: that: I stood at a crossroads and change was coming.

"Anything else?" Ames asked, disappointed on my behalf.

Rosa chuckled, shaking her belly and generous bosom. "No Amelia, my little chickadee. That's all I see. No tall, dark and handsome for your friend. What did I tell you 'bout that?"

Amelia grimaced. "Stay away from tall, dark and handsome."

"And you didn't listen." Rosa wagged her chubby finger at Amelia, and then patted her arm kindly. "But it will work out, chickadee. If you learn from it."

We thanked her, and made way for the next customer. Two women came in the door as we were leaving. Amelia cursed under her breath and then exchanged frosty hellos with them as she ushered me out.

Broadway Curios was close by, tucked away in a courtyard, a sign on the street announcing its location. The window displayed a mixture of old and new books, ethnic masks and purple amethysts the size of dinner plates. Inside there was a large display of gemstones and crystals, a couple of bookcases of books, and several glass cases of ornaments – cigarette lighters, belt buckles and jewellery, all with a Gothic theme. Vampires, bats, witches, gravestones, that kind of thing. The handful of customers browsing quietly looked to be tourists, not locals.

Amelia spoke briefly to the guy manning the register. His hair was dyed deep red, and he had a nose ring and two eyebrow piercings, but I guessed that fitted the theme. We went through a red velvet curtain behind the counter. There was a kitchenette back there, but Amelia unlocked a side door and led me upstairs to a fancy reception room with comfortable chairs.

"Downstairs is for tourists," she said. "This is the real deal. Come see the storeroom."

She unlocked a thick door, muttering something as she turned the key. The storeroom was lined with shelves stuffed with bundles of dried herbs, neatly labelled jars of ingredients, leather-bound books and an assortment of candles. There were other, weirder items I couldn't identify. A sturdy wooden table was strewn with parchment and oddly-shaped gemstones, and there was a trunk darkened with age in the corner, a couple of daggers sitting on its lid.

I made impressed noises without knowing what half the things were, then Amelia locked the storeroom up and we sat down in the leather armchairs.

"So, who were those women at the tea shop?" I asked, slipping off my shoes and rubbing the balls of my feet.

"Coven members. Neither very powerful," she said disdainfully. "What did you get off them?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Give it to me straight, Sook."

"Margo was hoping Bob will be single soon." Margo, the older, meaner brunette, also thought Ames didn't deserve Bob in the first place, but I kept that to myself.

Ames groaned. "And Clara?"

The younger and kinder one I'd recognised from warding my house. "She's worried the heartache between you and Bob will cause problems for the coven."

"I am too," she admitted. "Ugh, it's one big mess. I hope Rosa is right and it all works out."

I stayed quiet, not wanting to express my doubts about the accuracy of Rosa's predictions.

Amelia sighed. "I guess we should head home. Want takeout? I don't feel like cooking and it'll give us more time to get ready for Sanctum."

"Sure thing, Ames. I'm all shopped out."


	10. No Sanctuary

Before we go any further, Eric wanted a word.

_Yes, Sookie is stubborn, proud and infuriatingly short-sighted at times, but so is he. She's also hard-working, creative and loyal. Sometimes to the wrong people, but, hell, he was loyal to Ocella. Sookie is making her life her own, as she should. She doesn't owe him anything. Not even if he still loves her. That doesn't entitle him to anything in return._

_Demanding affection was Ocella's way, not his._

_And don't pity him – he hates that. He's big enough to _handle_ himself. *smirk*_

**A/N: **Some housekeeping:

1\. I'll aim for once a week over the holidays, but bear with me.

2\. For those missing Eric: pov switches back &amp; forth for a few chapters, then there's a long section of Eric. Yay!

3\. Hi guest: I'm puzzled, how would that work? The bombing was daytime. Felipe couldn't know Andre was vulnerable or contact Quinn. If Quinn was already working for Felipe, why kidnap his family? Interesting idea though. I was always leery of Quinn acting as Sophie-Ann's errand boy myself.

Okay, here we go. Buckle up and keep your hands inside the ride at all times.

This may rate a box of tissues, or a punching bag. Or tomatoes to throw at me.

…

Remember. DON'T PANIC. Big friendly pink letters.

* * *

**No Sanctuary**

* * *

Quinn rang the doorbell at nine on the dot. A gleaming black Lexus waited curbside behind him. The events business was sure doing great. While Amelia locked up, Quinn looked me up and down, and practically purred his appreciation. Giving him a warm smile, I complimented him right back. The man scrubbed up well; he looked gorgeous in his grey suit.

My dress was midnight blue and off the shoulder, with an embroidered bodice and a flaring skirt. I had new shoes to match and my hair was up in a simple twist. I'd borrowed a gold purse and necklace from Ames, but Quinn's reaction was the finishing touch my outfit needed. If I looked half as confident and assured as he made me feel, I would fit right in at Sanctum. Amelia said it was very upmarket.

Amelia's cream dress had a blue and brown geometric print that set off her colouring perfectly. Quinn complimented her too, holding the passenger door open with a glance at me. The man got points for politeness, but I opted for the back, getting in before anyone could protest. This wasn't some sort of date whatever Ames might imagine.

It was a short drive to the warehouse district. Amelia pointed out Sanctum, an unmarked three-story building painted in sage green with sash windows picked out in cream. As we drove past, I noticed the first floor windows were blocked up. Quinn turned into the narrow one-way side-street next to it.

A wall, topped with spikes, extended from the club to the next building, which looked to be a parking garage. A limo pulled away in front of us and Quinn pulled up opposite a plain white door in the wall. An elegantly dressed couple were disappearing through it, ignoring the two bulky men in suits and wearing earpieces – werewolves, when I checked –standing guard on either side.

A skinny guy in a valet uniform hotfooted it over to us. Taking Quinn's keys, he told us to keep our invitations in our hands as we went in. Ames and Quinn didn't bat an eyelid, so I fetch the thick embossed card out of my purse.

No oppressive urge to leave overwhelmed me on the sidewalk, but the card felt heavier as we passed through the door and I shivered. Amelia clutched her invitation, whispering, "That's one hell of a ward."

Classier than Club Dead so far, depending on what happened if you didn't have an invitation. Maybe you got bounced butt-first onto the sidewalk? I wasn't eager to find out.

Inside the wall was a paved courtyard, with a fountain that glistened in the soft lamplight. Past the fountain, another hulking pair of twoeys in suits waited next to a burning brazier, an odd sight given the warm night. One of them held a clipboard.

The breeze picked up and Quinn stiffened. He locked onto the larger twoey, keeping his eyes fixed on him as we walked over. The guy had a neat goatee and was as black as the night.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman. Your invitations, please." He spoke with a deep crisp English accent, his teeth flashing white.

Quinn stepped forward protectively and said with a hint of challenge, "Leopard."

"Tiger," he answered laconically, his mouth lifting at one corner.

Were-leopard. I hadn't met one of those.

"You're new in town," Quinn said rudely. His shoulders were tense. "Who are you?"

"Levi Jameson." He bared all his teeth, flashing a quick, wide smile. "And you are?"

"John Quinn."

"Ah, the infamous pit fighter." He glanced at clipboard guy, who nodded and crossed off what I guessed was Quinn's name. Levi the leopard held out his large hand for Quinn's invitation, took it and tossed it into the brazier. The card flared blue, burning unnaturally fast with a smell of cloves.

Levi said firmly, "There is no fighting here, tiger."

Quinn stared him down, and then broke eye contact. "I didn't come to fight."

"Good. No shifting. The rules are enforced ruthlessly." Then he added with no trace of welcome in his voice, "Welcome to Sanctum."

He held out his hand again, towards Amelia.

"Amelia Broadway, witch." Ames said politely, handing over her square of card.

Clipboard guy nodded and crossed her off his list. Her invitation met its fiery end. Levi gave Amelia a toothy smile. "No spells, Ms Broadway. Welcome to Sanctum."

He turned to me and I held out my invitation.

"Sookie Stackhouse, telepath." Not ashamed to say it, either.

His smile broadened and once I got the approving nod he tossed the card casually into the fire. "Hmm. We don't have rules for rare creatures like you. Don't ruffle any feathers with your gift. Weapons must be left at the coat check."

"Should I hand in my nail-file?" I said flatly, offended that he assumed the weak little human might be armed.

He threw his head back and laughed, throaty and rumbling. His amber eyes twinkling, he said warmly, "I think we can trust you with that. Welcome to Sanctum, Ms Stackhouse."

I smiled back. "Thank you, Mr Jameson."

The door slid open behind him and he waved us into the brightly lit lobby. Definitely classier than Josephine's. The floor was marble, or some similarly expensive stone, and two beautiful girls manned the coat check counter.

One smiled as we passed, revealing sharp teeth.

Elf.

I suddenly felt very human. Classier didn't mean safer.

I wasn't going to ruffle any feathers, no sirree. I wouldn't be able to read most of the clientèle clearly anyway, only the witches. Powerful witches could sense the mental intrusion and didn't react well. I might drop my shields once or twice to get a general impression of mood, but I wasn't going to push my luck.

We entered the main room and a pale man with dark hair and an expensive suit bounded over, all elbows and knees and enthusiasm. Smiling broadly and speaking with a soft Scottish burr he said, "Welcome to Sanctum. I'm your host, Malcolm Craw."

Amelia stepped forward eagerly, shaking his hand. "Pleased to meet you. Amelia Broadway, of the Dumaine Street coven."

Malcolm tilted his head curiously. "Broadway … Ah! Anything to do with the store?"

Amelia beamed. "Yes. I'm the owner." Then her eyes widened. "Craw? Are you a descendent of … well, um ...?"

"William Craw of Bo'ness, burnt at the stake? Very distantly, yes."

Malcolm was the witch owner then. I trailed after them, exchanging an amused look with Quinn as Amelia did her best to ingratiate herself with our host. Malcolm was equally effusive, giving us – well, Amelia really – a quick tour, obviously very proud of his club.

The place was lovely: soft lighting, fresh blues and greens, pale wood. Modern, uncluttered and calming, not clinical. There was an informal seating area dotted with potted plants, reminiscent of Pam's new-look Fangtasia, and an open area by the bar, where people were mingling to 'blether' as Malcolm put it. A dozen assorted supes stood chatting quietly as muted jazz floated over from the club proper.

A glass wall, waist-high and painted with a stunning mural of exotic flowers and butterflies, separated the two areas. Standing by it, we could see the whole place. Steps at either end of the wall led down to a wooden dance floor surrounded by semi-circular booths with generously stuff green leather benches. There was a band in the far corner providing the jazz.

The lighting was dimmer than the bar, but my human eyes still saw the whole thing just fine. There were no dark corners no nooks and crannies, nowhere to hide. I guess they'd designed it that way. Everybody could see everybody.

Malcolm explained to Amelia that the booths were warded for privacy so business could be conducted in the open. If the participants were wary of each other, I assumed. Another owner, a part-demon called Ariadne Jones, provided legal services, and rooms upstairs could be hired for delicate negotiations. I sensed Quinn's irritation when Malcolm revealed Levi was the twoey owner. Something told me Quinn and the leopard weren't going to be best buddies.

The Scottish witch blethered – I liked the term, it suited him – about their ethos of bringing different supes together and fostering harmony until another party arrived and he excused himself to greet them.

They obviously took that ethos seriously: the band was a mix of vampires and twoeys.

Amelia wanted a good vantage point, so we sat at the end of the bar, soaking up the ambience. I asked for orange juice, wanting my wits about me. The pretty blonde bartender, another twoey, batted her eyes shamelessly at Quinn as she served our drinks. Amelia took off to talk to someone she recognised, leaving behind an awkward silence.

I broke it, asking Quinn how his job was going. He mentioned the places he'd visited in the last few months, not giving much away about his clients, which was fine with me. So was the warmth of his smile and the heat of his arm brushing against mine.

I was a single woman. No harm in appreciating the company of a handsome man.

Amelia came back beaming. She flitted off repeatedly during the next hour. I got the distinct impression inviting Quinn was her idea of throwing me a bone so she could abandon me guilt-free to network. So much for the heartbreak going on in her personal life. She definitely had her father's ambition and drive.

Eventually I spotted someone I knew: Genevieve Thrash and her husband David, the former Lieutenant Governor. I'd last seen the older couple at Sophie Ann's abbey, at a memorable party that ended in a gruesome bloodbath. The intervening five years had treated the Trashes well; they glowed with health. I excused myself to say hi, leaving Amelia to a taste of her own medicine.

Genevieve took a moment to recognise me, but a glance at Quinn did the trick. Ever the politician's wife, she recovered gracefully. "Oh, yes. I remember. Sookie. A barmaid, wasn't it? How are you finding business these days?" If she thought I was a fish out of water in the high-class joint, she was too polite to say.

"Oh... It's been better," I fudged, not wanting to admit I was currently out of work.

"Still with...?"

"Quinn? Oh, no ma'am. Just a coincidence we're here together."

We chatted about sightseeing in New Orleans until I mentioned I'd been disappointed Mr Thrash hadn't been on the ticket last election. He was deep in discussion with Malcolm Craw and a short, overweight man in a brown suit.

"Not as disappointed as David was," she said, sighing. "I should join him. Thank you for warning us all those years ago." She gave me a warm smile and squeezed my arm._ He tried so hard to convince the party voters could see past the wolf._

Oh. That explained why he hadn't run. I sighed too. Twoeys had a way to go until their nature became irrelevant in public life. Amelia had disappeared again and when I got back Malcolm pulled Quinn away to speak to someone. I sat alone at the bar, enjoying the peace.

"Wotcha," said a voice right behind me. I almost fell off my stool in shock.

"Don't do that," I gasped, turning round with my hand on my chest, feeling a buzzing mind behind me. "Diantha?"

The elegant lady in front of me didn't look like Diantha. Her hair was dyed indigo, but it coordinated nicely with her purple kimono-style dress. The sturdy boots peeking out beneath it were a glimpse of the real Diantha, though.

She grinned widely, flashing her sharp teeth. "Whatcha think? I'm incognito."

"Oh. What for?"

She rolled her eyes. "Guarding you. Must be working, 'cos I've been sitting right there and you didn't notice me. Didn't come over until you were alone, case yer friends didn't know."

"Oh. I wasn't expecting you."

She shrugged. "I blend in better than Thalia."

I grinned. "Yeah. Can't see her liking the whole peace and love vibe."

Diantha snorted in a very unladylike way, somewhat ruining her 'disguise'. "Me neither. Tiger-boy is coming back so I'll be off. See ya."

I indulged in a little more casual flirting to boost my ego, and then excused myself to powder my nose.

The bathrooms had an excess of marble and a female sink attendant, of some unknown species that tended to muscle. She politely but silently handed me a towel to dry my hands on. I figured she was stationed there for security, not to wait on customers. Pretending not to find her presence off-putting, I spent a minute fixing my hair. Coming out, I found the pretty bartender was flirting with Quinn in my absence.

He was enjoying her attentions. Maybe his ego was too big for one woman to stroke I thought sourly, stuffing my brush back into Amelia's tiny purse.

Damn. It wouldn't close.

Moving away from the bathroom entrance, I paused by the steps that led down to the dance floor, shuffling the contents of the overfull purse, a procedure not helped by my irritation with Quinn. A door opened below me and I vaguely registered a void and a buzzing demon mind as I struggled with the clasp.

"… is ready, your majesty."

"Good. Thank you, Ariadne."

That voice. Simultaneously the purse snapped shut and my head snapped up.

A tall, long-limbed, generously padded woman stood near the bottom of the steps. Ariadne.

With Eric.

Eric, his back to me, in a black tux, hair loose and glowing like pale spun gold, body as beautiful as Michelangelo's David. A throb of lust engulfed me, increasing my irritation tenfold. Our last meeting flooded back – at least, the fragments of it that my mind held onto flooded back – and that fanned my irritation into a fury that flared bright and hot as Eric took a step towards the dance floor.

"Eric," I called sharply.

He glanced around and blinked.

I stepped forward, hands on hips. "I want a word with you, buster."

Ariadne inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. In the calm that comes with absolute rage, I noticed her irises were a few shades lighter than the deep violet of her pant suit. Her eyes, almond-shaped and framed by thick dark lashes, were lovely against her caramel skin and jet black hair.

His face blank, Eric came slowly back towards me. I was entirely too pleased to find the steps put me above him, and I glared ferociously down at him as he said smoothly, "Sookie. Are you well?"

Ariadne stepped back deferentially and in a flash her earlier words clicked into place.

"You're a king?" I blurted out.

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "You are surprised."

"Hell, yes." I didn't say: I thought you weren't interested in a throne. Freyda said you liked being a big fish in a little pond.

"You've been back a month. Pam didn't mention it?" His eyes flicked towards the door he'd come through. "That's not like her. She likes to crow it from the rooftops." His lips curled with the ghost of a smirk that I wanted to slap off his arrogant face.

"It must have slipped her mind, _your majesty_." I couldn't fit an ounce more sarcasm into his title. I tried.

Indiana.

He'd taken Indiana. I knew what that meant. I'd seen takeovers; they never ended well for the royal being dethroned. Or more likely, decapitated. Vampire or not, Bartlett and his husband had loved each other.

I asked coldly, "All bloodshed and mayhem, was it? Russell must be devastated."

That crease between Eric's eyebrows deepened, but before I had a chance to throw out another barb the door opened. Pam appeared, her eyebrows lifting when she saw me. She smoothed her expression fast and scanned the club. Something behind Eric, across the dance floor, caught her attention. Curious, I craned to look over the _royal_ pain-in-my-ass.

Just great.

Rory Kingfisher, wearing a deep green dress fit for a fairy queen, was sliding out of a booth. She said something to the folks she was leaving and started towards Eric eagerly, beaming a warm smile. Then she saw me, half-hidden behind him, and her smile wavered.

Pam drawled, "The annoying Miss Kingfisher is here."

Eric turned. I couldn't see the look he gave Rory, but her expression lit up with pleasure then fluttered through puzzled to settle on uneasy. She stopped a few feet away.

I was damned if I was calling her your highness. No matter how many million dollars she looked in that dress.

A faint pulse of concern, muted by my shields, distracted me. Directed at me specifically, with a whisper of my name, it came from the bar. Quinn had finally torn himself away from the blonde and noticed I was missing. He was one worried kitty, padding across the room looking for me. Just purr-fect.

I caught his eye and shook my head, hoping he'd take the hint. He stopped, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric shift forward to see who I was signalling. Quinn tensed immediately and stalked forward again, glowering.

Eric, expression indifferent, shoved his hands in his pockets.

I groaned. Wonderful. An inane tiger-vamp territorial dispute was about to erupt, fuelled by unadulterated testosterone. It would do nothing but infuriate me, the territory in question. Before that calamity befell us all, Diantha appeared next to Eric and a silent shadow materialised besides me, startling me.

Levi Jameson put his hand gently on my elbow and said amiably, "Ms Stackhouse, I told you not to ruffle any feathers." Then he nodded respectfully to Eric. "Louisiana."

What the hell?

I scrambled to make sense of that greeting while Levi quietly asked Eric if there was a problem. Diantha eyed Eric warily, inching herself between him and me. Eric said something reassuring and Levi cautiously let go of my arm. I was dimly aware of Malcolm Craw intercepting Quinn in the background.

"Whoa there," I said, raising a hand and treating Pam to her very own glare. I hated being kept in the dark more than anything. "Louisiana, not Indiana?"

Eric nodded curtly.

"You killed de Castro? That snake is finally dead?"

"No. Nevada survives." Eric was plum regretful about that.

"So, how did you … What, you had a secret army stashed somewhere and kicked his sorry butt all the way back to Las Vegas?"

His mouth twitched. "Something like that, but here is not the–"

"You know what?" I said, proud I wasn't yelling. "I don't need to know. That's not important. I want an explanation for the other night, for that interrogation you gave me."

Before Eric could answer, Levi coughed politely. All heads swivelled to him, but he was cooler than an English butler. "Perhaps this would be better discussed in private."

Eric considered that, and nodded. He turned to the demon woman. "Ariadne, perhaps your office?"

"Of course, your majesty. Come this way, Ms Stackhouse." She gestured at the door they had come through.

I came down the steps, sorry that there were so few and my heels weren't suited to stomping. Maybe this wasn't the place for childish fits of pique, and maybe I should be glad my dignity was still intact, but it sure would've taken the edge off. Levi hovering behind me like I might explode any second wasn't helping my frayed temper none, either.

Diantha stepped forward and asked quietly, "Want me to come with?"

I shook my head. "I don't think _his majesty_ will appreciate an audience while I nail his butt to the wall."

Diantha snickered, and out of the corner of my eye I caught Pam turning away to hide her smile. Eric stiffened ahead of me. Good. My remark hit home.

He disappeared through the door Ariadne was holding open. As I passed her I got a whiff of her perfume, or maybe her natural scent: all smoke and warm spices, distinctive but not unpleasant. Ariadne closed the door, shutting out the noise from the club. Eric was already striding down a corridor to the left. He stopped opposite the last door but one – the last, at the end of the corridor, was labelled 'Backstage' – and leaned nonchalantly against the wall. We traipsed after him.

Ariadne assessed me with a glance before asking him, "Want an adjudicator, Eric? Or a witness?"

Eric shook his head, rude as ever.

I pulled out my manners and dusted them off. "No thank you, Ms Jones. We'll manage just fine. We'll be out of your hair before you know it. This won't take long to straighten out."

She said drily, "I do hope so, Ms Stackhouse."

She typed something into a keypad and pressed her hand against the door, muttering something under her breath. The lock clicked, and she cracked the door before stepping back, motioning Eric forward. He pushed himself off the wall and went in.

Ariadne touched my arm as I started after him. "You know Eric well?"

"Yep."

"So you know how he is."

"Yep." She was warning me not to trifle with _his maj-ass-ty_.

"He is fair, though. Present your complaint logically, and he will listen."

"Uh-huh." It was a shame that when Eric and I were concerned, logic was first to dive head-first out the window and splatter its brains out on the sidewalk.

"And if you could leave my office as you find it, I would appreciate it."

"Of course." Shouldn't she be asking the vampire king who could do a lot more damage to her room? Then I twigged: she was delaying me, hoping I'd calm down some before I faced his high-and-mightiness.

Who I found leaning back against her desk on his outstretched arms, his legs crossed at the ankles.

He inhaled pointedly as I shut the door behind me. "Are you … with the tiger?"

"No," I snapped. "And that's none of your damn business."

He nodded and gestured at the couch. "Sit. I have a feeling this will take a while."

"No thanks. I'll stand." I crossed my arms and jutted my chin defiantly. "What you did think you were doing, interrogating me while I was drugged? That was lower than a snake's belly, even for you."

He shrugged and said blandly, "I am an opportunist. You know this about me."

I snorted. "Really? So you couldn't pass up the chance to stick your big beak into my business and humiliate me."

He contemplated that, and then answered quietly, "Humiliating you was not my intention. I … wanted answers."

"And you didn't care if you violated my privacy to get them. Because you know damn well I would've told you to go straight to hell if my mind was clear."

"Yes. Ordinarily, you are not so … forthcoming."

"That's rich after that hogwash you fed me after the divorce. Don't think I don't know that was a pack of lies."

"I told you all the truth I could that night."

I scoffed. "You flat out lied that night."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Did I?"

I didn't see the humour. I spat out: "You're a manipulative jerk!"

His face went neutral again. "Yes. You know that about me too."

This was getting me nowhere. I aimed my next thrust at a softer target. "What the hell was all that about Deidra's wedding? You lost the right to complain about me kissing anybody after what you did with that Rowe bitch, buddy."

He looked down at his shoes, jaw clenching. Score one for me.

When he looked up, I had to lock my legs so I didn't step back. He was extremely pissed. He said very quietly, "Perhaps not the kiss, but I have every right to be offended by your little charade."

"What?"

His eyes flashed and his accent thickened. "It was extremely reckless to go along with the pretence you were Merlotte's. De Castro was looking for a way to bypass the pledge. If he had got wind of it, it would have put me in a difficult position and you in danger."

Oh. That.

Maybe he had a point there. That hadn't been my smartest move. Eric one, Sookie nil.

Hell-bent on coming out ahead for once, I switched tracks and hit out with the thing that ticked me off the most. "You had absolutely no business asking about things between me and Sam, private things. Vamps might not have any boundaries or sense of decency but I expected better of you. That was a huge violation, Eric."

He shrugged.

I saw red. Pointing my finger, I stepped into his space and punctuated my tirade with jabs to his chest. "And don't think I don't know why you asked that. You're still mad that I didn't want to drop everything and get naked every time you came over. Because I was supposed to be available whenever you wanted. Because I was _yours_. Shepherd of Judea Eric! That attitude went out centuries ago."

His eyes flashed again and he drawled, "Really? And yet you confessed that you never denied the shifter because_ he was your_ _husband_."

I did?

Those damn holes in my memory. Not willing to give an inch, I hit back at once. "I can't be held accountable for whatever the hell nonsense I said while I was higher than a kite."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were particularly lucid, believe me."

Shit. I didn't want to know what else I'd let slip. I snapped, "Oh yeah? You heard what you wanted to hear, buddy. I can't believe you're still hung up on that. But then, you flat out asked for sex often enough. Hell that was all you came over for, all you ever wanted from me."

"No. That is–" He cut off, dragging his hand through his hair.

Good. I went in for the kill, poking his chest again. "That was all it boiled down to, wasn't it? All there was between us. Just sex."

Something shifted and his lip curled. Grabbing my accusatory finger and moving it to the side, he leaned forward into my space, his eyes blazing in their blue depths. I swallowed as his proximity became overwhelming.

He breathed, "Oh, Sookie. With us it was never _just _sex."

He held that position for a second, our lips almost touching and his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say more. Then he dropped my hand like a hot coal and leaned back.

Flustered, I stepped back smartly, my chest heaving far too noisily. Looking down, I smoothed my dress and gathered some dignity, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. Appalled at how easily he'd gotten to me, I muttered sullenly, "I don't get why you even care."

It wasn't like he'd been brooding over me for years; I had no illusions there. Rory was out in the club, and a line was probably forming behind her. It made no sense that with me at his mercy, tongue loosened by alcohol and Lord only knows what, he was overcome with a burning desire to ask a boatload of questions about me and Sam.

When I dared to look up, he was stone-faced again. I frowned. It didn't make sense. "Why _do_ you still care?"

There was a pause long enough that I thought he wasn't going to answer.

"I am a proud man," he admitted quietly.

"You can't be mad that I married Sam. That was what you wanted, wasn't it? To make you feel less guilty. And anyway," I waved my empty ring-finger at him and tried to hide the bitterness that rose up, "it's not like that ended well."

He stared at my hand, pensive. "You said you never loved him. When you were drugged."

If Eric just needed an explanation to get over his wounded pride, I could give him that much. "No. I didn't love him. Not like that. Only as friend."

Picking his words, he said carefully, "Yet you turned to him."

My hackles started to rise. I said warningly, "After you left."

He gave me a level look. "Not so long after."

Now I was positively bristling. "Did you hit your head and forget what happened? I was free to do as I damn well pleased. You divorced me for another woman!"

"Not by choice," he said forcefully. "You never understood that."

"What does that matter? If it hadn't been Freyda, it would have been someone else. I would never have been enough for you, Eric." _Because I didn't come with a throne, _I added snidely in my head.

He snorted. "No, it doesn't matter. Your marriage to Merlotte meant more to you than ours ever did."

"Maybe that's because he didn't trick me into it," I retorted.

"Should I have let de Castro take you then?" he asked hotly.

"Guess you don't have to worry about some higher-up stealing your toys again. Not now you're the head honcho, the big kahuna, the _king_." No wonder he turned me down when I threw myself at him. He was vampire royalty, in charge of a whole damn state of fangers. I was just an office girl. Not even that thanks to that bitch Jody. I chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh boy, I certainly can't compete with that power rush. Freyda thought she could, but even Consort was never going to be enough for you."

He hissed.

That only made me madder. "I'm impressed. You've certainly made quick work climbing that ladder. How does it feel Eric? Everybody bowing and scraping, all that power to do what you want."

"You do not understand."

I sneered and laid into him with a perverse glee. "What? Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown? Give me a break, Eric. I know you. You're a born leader. I bet you love every minute. Ocella had you pegged exactly right. Why wouldn't he? He _made_ you."

His fists clenched. "Ocella had no care for what I wanted."

I kept pushing, wild with rage that had been bottled up too long. "Really? Wasn't power exactly what you wanted? Because I seem to remember you caving in to your lovely maker's plans pretty damn fast in the end."

His whole body tensed and he answered through gritted teeth. "It was inevitable. There was no point fighting it any longer."

I tasted salt water. My throat was drowning with it, but my voice came out strong and bitter. "You mean you gave up. You didn't have a reason to fight, I wasn't enough reason, and you gave up."

He shook his head like a wounded animal trying to dislodge an arrow: "I had no choice!"

Furious with that tired excuse, I yelled, "You said she wouldn't win!"

He flinched.

I barely knew what I was shouting, blinded by rage and tears, nails digging into my palms. "You said she wouldn't win, you promised me and you left!"

With a strangled bellow, he blurred past me. The door handle groaned in his grip and he stopped, his back to me. As if the words were being ripped from his throat, he said hoarsely, "My feelings were never the ones in doubt, Sookie Stackhouse."

Throwing the door open he was gone, leaving a gust of air carrying a lingering echo of his raw voice.

…

My breathing rasped harshly in the still room.

I struggled not to sob, gulping air and blinking rapidly. The desk in front of me went from wavering to sharp-edged as my eyes cleared. My breathing slowly quietened. My anger blown out, I stumbled over to the couch and eased myself down, exhausted and trembling.

That was intense.

So much for giving Eric a clean slate.

I hadn't counted on how furious I still was about that whole mess: angry with Freyda, Ocella and Eric. A tsunami of rage had surged out of me, tearing open scars, washing me clean.

It felt … freeing, cathartic.

I wondered if it had been like that for Eric. He had been very controlled, very Eric at first, but that cold demeanour faltered and his final outburst sounded so…

I sat forward, massaging my temples to ease a tension that threatened to become the mother of all headaches. I tried to think rationally.

Eric _had_ been manipulative and opportunistic. By his own admission. He was completely unrepentant.

Like Niall when I'd challenged him about Sam. Supes did not bend to human notions of fair play and morality. It seemed I needed to relearn that the hard way.

They weren't human. I should keep that front and centre, not get sucked into treating Eric like an ordinary man. He was vampire, first and foremost. Always.

What did I know about vampires? They were notoriously possessive.

Marrying Sam – Lord, I'd even had the temerity to choose a lowly shifter – had seemingly put a sizeable dent in Eric's ego. He really couldn't understand it. Which was ironic, given he'd leapt to the erroneous conclusion that I loved Sam so quickly.

That parting accusation...

Vampires cared for few people in this world, and, as I'd feared at the time, Eric couldn't fathom why I would save Sam's life unless I loved him. Consequently Eric had doubted my feelings for him.

That showed the huge gulf between us. I was human. There were many people I cared about enough to save.

And it showed that Eric didn't trust me.

A relationship needed trust. We'd lost ours along the way, if we'd ever really had it. We were too different to ever understand each other. Neither of us could be what the other needed or wanted. We never had much of a chance.

Clearly we needed this fight – knock-down, bare-knuckle and dirty, painful and raw as it was – to put the past to bed. No, not to bed, that was the wrong phrase. It didn't fit the tightening in my chest or my cold sense of finality.

In the grave.

Yep. That fit.

I should have a headstone carved. Sookie and Eric: _finally dead and buried._

My half-hearted joke fell flat. I'd never felt less like laughing. I leant into my hands heavily, allowing myself to regret and to mourn.

…

Thankfully there was a sink with a mirror in Ariadne's office.

I had just finished repairing my face when Pam walked in. Smiling weakly I sat down on the couch, assuming she wanted to talk, and took a moment to appreciate her elegant cocktail dress, matching shoes and lipstick. All that scarlet contrasted dramatically with her pale hair and icy white skin.

Rory appeared in the doorway. Great. I sat up straighter as she glanced around the room.

"O," she said, frowning slightly. She turned to go.

"Wait," Pam ordered, disappearing inside herself briefly. "He's in no mood for company."

Rory grimaced and asked me, "You fought?"

"Not physically. I'm in one piece," I deadpanned. "But yes, words were exchanged."

She was unhappy about that, giving me a cool stare. I stared right back.

Close up her dress was even more stunning, with lacy long sleeves and a plunging neckline. The motif, delicately embroidered flowers that glittered with tiny gemstones as she moved, repeated over the body and down the skirt, which hugged her hips like a second skin before cascading to the floor. Thick red hair tumbled down her back in sensuous curls, pinned up at the sides to reveal what I reckoned were real emerald earrings. Her necklace dripped with matching stones.

Fairy or not, she had that je-ne-sais-quoi, that undefinable allure of a truly beautiful woman who knows it, but carries it with poise and grace. No wonder Eric wasn't interested in my drunken ass. Rory looked fit for a king.

It wasn't just her dress that was green.

Whatever Rory saw in me displeased her further. Her mouth pursed, she turned away and walked over to the desk, a tasteful split in her dress revealing a flash of toned thigh.

Pam, who'd watched our interaction intently, followed Rory with narrowed eyes.

Irritation bubbled within me. I had a bone to pick with Pam and, remarkably, the fight with Eric hadn't drained my tank of emotions completely dry. Rory wasn't showing any sign of leaving, but I couldn't wait.

"Pam," I said sharply. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Eric was king?"

She shrugged. "I assumed you knew."

"We spoke the night I got home. You didn't say a damn word. I'd only just got back, how would I know already?"

She flicked her eyes towards Rory, as uncomfortable with our witness as I was, but she answered me. "You were so set against Eric having any involvement with your security that I thought the cat was out of the bag." She hesitated. "I knew Bill had beaten me to you."

Colour me surprised. She _was_ keeping tabs on me. My eyes narrowed. "Thalia tell you that, did she?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No. I smelt his scent on your porch. I assumed he rushed over at sunset, eager to spread the good news."

Maybe that had been the idea, before Kennedy arrived. "He was interrupted."

"He came back again the next night, didn't he?"

I bristled. "And as you've been keeping such a close eye on me, you'll know he stayed all of two seconds."

"Bill didn't tell you?"

"No." He had been real eager to take that walk, though. Now I knew why. He knew I had guards; he wanted a private conversation. But Pam, and therefore Eric, knew he'd stopped by. On a hunch I said, "Bill didn't showed up for a while after that. Did Eric order him to stay away?"

Pam smirked. "I deal with Bill. It's better for his health. He travels for his … projects."

"Really," I said drily. I knew how it worked. Eric was his king, Pam was his sheriff. If they said jump, Bill asked how high. "I guess by the time he was _allowed_ back he assumed I knew too."

I hadn't exactly put out the welcome mat and sat around gossiping with him, thinking Bill had another agenda, a personal one that I didn't want to encourage. Well, his king definitely hadn't ordered him to seduce me.

Pam looked pensive. "You must have known, Sookie. I mentioned it at Mark's."

"No. You didn't."

A wrinkle developed on her forehead. "I did. I said I expected Bill's visits, in light of the new situation."

Boy, she'd really been distracted by Mark during that conversation. I said grimly, "Yes, you did. I thought you meant _my_ new situation."

"The divorce."

"Yes, the divorce." I snapped. The divorce I'd rather not mention with Eric's latest squeeze in the room looking fang-droppingly gorgeous.

Pam stiffened. "I should have been clearer."

"Yep. You should have."

Her eyes glittered. Pronouncing every word distinctly she said, "I apologise. I was reluctant to discuss my maker and his ascent to the throne with you. Getting between the two of you is not healthy for our friendship."

That stopped me in my tracks. "Oh." My resentment melted a little. "I guess I get that."

She was still stiff. "No-one else said anything?"

"Nope. Not a thing." I reckoned human, and non-human, nature being what it was everybody had been reluctant to break the news of Eric's 'promotion' to me, only too happy to assume someone else had dished the dirt.

"The shifter? Your brother?"

"No. Sam and I had other things to discuss." Things that led to my newly single status, which I didn't want bring up again. "And Jason's been distracted. Michele just gave birth, and to be honest he's quite tight-lipped about all things supe these days."

"Ah." Pam looked a little sheepish, but I didn't know why. "What about what's-his-name, Bill's dayman? The one married to your friend who's so talented with a shotgun."

I sighed. Vampires and their inability to grasp trivial details like names. "Danny. Nope, didn't say a thing." Or think anything. When he came over to help me with my résumés, he hadn't even thought about Bill. Odd, but I put that aside to think on later.

"Amelia?"

"It didn't come up. We've got better things to talk about than y'all." I had no intention of betraying Amelia's confidence. Pam didn't need to know what was happening with Bob.

Pam mused, "I suppose you don't really move in the right circles to hear vampire gossip. It's hardly something Thalia indulges in."

"No. She sticks to security."

"Yes. She is your guard, not a friend. You know, I didn't realise you frequented nightclubs so often. Blue was unexpected, but here? I'm almost shocked."

I shrugged. "Amelia wanted to come."

No way was Pam as shocked as I was by tonight. Eric had sure sucker-punched me. I hated that, but it seemed no-one had deliberately kept me in the dark. I sighed heavily, and realised I'd better find out how the 'new situation' was going to impact little old me.

"I guess Eric is living down here?"

"Baton Rouge. After Katrina, it seemed sensible."

Good, less chance I'd run into him. "When did this all happen?"

"February, made official in March."

"Okay." The million dollar question. "What does it mean for me?"

"I am in charge of your security. Eric is not directly involved. Nothing changes. Except you are protected in Louisiana for your lifetime, obviously."

"Oh, obviously." I said with an edge. "So that's it? No come running when the king snaps his fingers? No expectation I'm part of his damn retinue?"

"Yes, that is it. Eric has made it clear he has no need of your talents. Any other questions?"

"Nope."

In truth I had plenty: starting with how I'd been so wrong about Eric's ambition to rule, through wondering if he had 'no need' of me because he'd found another telepath, and ending with why the eff Rory was still in the room.

Not that I was going to ask any of those. Not with Rory hanging around like a bad smell.

Not that she did. Smell bad. Even her perfume was lovely – a delicate floral scent. It made me that little bit more irritated with her.

Pam nodded. "Good. I need to –"

She broke off and turned to the open door as Ariadne's large figure filled it. She was light-footed for a big gal; I hadn't heard her coming.

"ETA fifteen minutes," she said abruptly and disappeared.

Turning back to me Pam said briskly, "I have work to do. Diantha is on point tonight. Thalia is somewhere close. Contact them if you need anything."

She left the room, the clack of her heels receding rapidly. I stood and brushed down my dress, preparing mentally for an unpleasant conversation with Quinn. I glanced over at Rory, and wished I hadn't.

She was perched on the corner of the desk, looking at a framed photo. Even the way she sat was elegant. Some supes got all the breaks, what chance did us mere mortal women have? I scowled at her, and she looked up before I could hide my expression.

Shit, busted.

Her green eyes were cool and her smile was a threat. "I was just contemplating the nature of love."

Huh?

My face must have said that loud and clear, because she turned the photo around to show me Ariadne and Malcolm, relaxed and smiling at each other. "They look happy, don't they?"

I shrugged, not liking where this was heading. How rude would it be to start edging towards the door?

She looked down at the photo, touching it lightly with her fingertips. "There is love there. A rare and precious thing." She looked up straight into my eyes. "'_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy._' Isn't that what your Bible says?"

Recognising the quote, I gave her a cautious, "Something like that."

The green of her eyes darkened and the challenge in her voice belied her smile. "Jealousy may be a symptom, but by itself it is not love, Sookie Stackhouse. Do not mistake the two."

Uh-huh. I got her message loud and clear. Hell, I'd seen Arlene give the 'back off my man' message to other women in sickly honeyed tones enough times to decode it in my sleep. _Don't read anything significant into Eric's jealousy, _it said under Rory's fake smile. I reckoned the Eric and Quinn show earlier had her feeling threatened.

I slapped on my own polite smile and replied sweetly, "Bless your heart. Don't you worry none about me. I know how to recognise love just fine."

She tilted her head, those damn earrings catching the light, and said mockingly: "You do? You _have_ been blessed. And so young, too."

"Young?" I asked, wanting to glare, but holding my smile. She didn't look thirty, but certain supes never suffered grey hairs or wrinkles. "You're older than you look then."

She hopped off the desk with a lithe movement. "Yes, I am. Perhaps you can benefit from the wisdom of my centuries. You cannot truly love someone until you accept all that they are."

"Uh-huh." If she could accept Mr High-and-Mighty and the throne that would always be his first priority, good luck to her.

She watched me intently and I let my smile fade to a dead-eyed stare. The tension ratcheted higher, neither of us backing down.

She said softly, "I don't think you know what love is at all, selfish child."

She had some gall. I wasn't naive or a child. I snapped, "Fuck you. You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" she said, stepping closer with feline grace. The air crackled, I smelt ozone and her eyes darkened even further. "What did you ever give up for someone you loved? Not a lot, I think. Eric was forced into a marriage he didn't want, torn away from his place and his family. You did nothing to stop that."

I was amazed she thought I could have done anything. "What the heck was I supposed to do? I couldn't let Sam die. The wish was gone."

"You weren't going to use it on Eric anyway," she said sharply.

"Eric said he'd find a way out of it."

A flicker of a knowing smile played on her lips. "Of course he did. But what did you do to help him?"

Did she think I had a supe army on speed dial? "There was nothing I could do!"

"Did you ask Desmond Cataliades for help? Or Brigant himself? Or any of the vampires who owed you their lives from Rhodes? The packs you have ties to, your witch friend? Did you negotiate with de Castro, offer your gift? No, you didn't. After everything he did for you, you did nothing. You let him go, Sookie Stackhouse."

"I helped get rid of Victor! I saved Eric's ass from a murder charge! I was sick and tired of all that vampire bullshit. It was never going to end. How much of myself was I meant to give up?"

"How much was he?" she hissed. She shook her head. "I'm wasting my breath. You're as stubborn as Fintan ever was." She turned on her heel and stalked to the door, but stopped, turning back.

Face serious and eyes pitying, she said, "Love is measured by what you sacrifice, Sookie Stackhouse, not what you gain. Real love gives you the courage to sacrifice everything. Perhaps, like I did, you will only truly understand that when you become a mother."

I spluttered, too angry to spit out a reply. She was gone long before the cuss words tangled in my throat broke loose. Bitter envy swamped me as I caught up to her last words. On top of everything else, she'd succeeded where I'd failed. She was a mother.

That was it.

Stick a fork in me. I was done.

I slammed the office door closed on the way out and marched up the corridor. Diantha was waiting by the door into the club. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.

"Where did that bitch Rory go?" I demanded, barely slowing.

"Outsidethataway," she said in one breath, gesturing past a set of stairs to an external door.

"Good."

I shouldered the door to the club open, breezed through it and headed straight for the bar. I needed a drink.


	11. Duty

**A/N:** Thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows. There may or may not be a chapter next week depending on how many visitors I have, so I'll wish you all happy holidays now.

Briefly to a few guest reviewers:

1\. Good points about Sam versus Eric and marriage. Sookie has reasons, doesn't she?

2\. No offence taken at all. I'm not meaning to bash Sookie. She didn't shout across the whole club. She's not acting on every lusty impulse she has. I don't see her behaviour as stupid, I see her as passionate. Those damn pesky emotions get in her way sometimes.

3\. Rory is definitely Eric's friend, and what she senses from Sookie... Well, it's probably confusing.

Right, here we go. Stars indicate footnotes as the site doesn't support superscript. Grr.

And Eric is a little upset. There will be cussing.

* * *

**Duty**

* * *

I blurred passed Diantha and burst out of the back entrance of the club, seeking solitude.

The private parking area was deserted. Thank fuck. I paced the gravel, agitated and barely aware of my surroundings. Sookie's glistening blue eyes filled my vision and her harsh recriminations echoed in my ears.

_You said she wouldn't win… You left… You gave up._

She spoke as if I had abandoned her. In spite of her begging me to let her go, in spite of her eagerness to turn to the shifter already hovering in the wings…

She felt I had broken my word and betrayed her.

I could still smell her tears. Tears that welled in those blue eyes because of me. Because I hurt her.

Because I let her down.

Worse, there was nothing I could do to make it right, to undo it.

Ocella.

Fucking Ocella.

A fierce hatred lanced through me and I turned violently on my heel, scattering a spray of gravel against a nearby car. The chink of expensive paint chipping pulled me out of my spiralling rage and I ground to a halt, vibrating with anger, fangs down and fists clenched.

I turned slowly, taking stock.

A half-dozen cars, with VIP owners who would be pissed if I crushed their vehicles. A handful of weedy decorative trees, too flimsy to satisfy. The blank walls of the surrounding buildings, rising up around me like a prison.

Fuck.

Nothing to hit, rend or destroy.

I stared up at the open sky with longing before throwing myself bad-temperedly against the side of my car, a VW Jetta. The panel crumpled and the whole car rocked, setting off the fucking alarm. The wail lasted the microsecond it took me to yank the door open and silence it with my fist. Seriously tempted to rip the door off too, I settled for slamming it. Hard.

Fucking car. I hated the fucking thing. Inconspicuous, my dead ass. Fucking tasteless piece of shit.

I slumped against it, furious with myself, not the damn car.

Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut around her?

I barely had the presence of mind to say 'my feelings _were'. _Not _are_. As in my feelings _are_ tearing me a-fucking-part. I growled, tugging my hair back roughly.

What the hell was Sookie doing here?

She had blind-sided me. Literally. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she might visit Sanctum. Focused on my agenda for the night, I hadn't even noticed her a scant few feet away.

Seeing her again after I vowed to stay away from her was a cruel twist indeed.

I almost kept walking when she called after me. Then she made that 'interrogation' dig and I felt … remorse. When I agreed to talk, I planned to stay calm and leave Sookie in no doubt I was a manipulative high-handed bastard. Again. It was over. If she held me in contempt so much the better for me.

That was my spur-of-the-moment plan.

It was a shitty one. Calm? While she was hurling accusations left and right? Not fucking likely. I warred with myself, struggling not to reply, not to react. Not to reveal anything.

Like how much her nearness affected me.

I hadn't kissed her, but my mouth had hardly co-operated otherwise, letting loose far more than I wanted. When she accused _me_ of only wanting _her_ for sex, I was livid. Thank fuck I realised how ridiculous my angry retort would sound and shut the hell up, saving myself that small scrap of dignity.

To admit out loud that the only time she dropped her guard, the only time she truly let me in was after we'd… That during that dark time I needed every minute with her, needed to feel … That I didn't know how else to ask for the comfort I…

Fuck. I didn't even want to express that to myself.

I rubbed at my face roughly.

Enough. Enough allowing this insane vulnerability. I was done with this. I tipped my head back against the car and stared up at the stars. Emptying my mind, I focused on their cold unreachable beauty.

…

"Pam."

She blurred over from the door, where she'd been hovering in the shadows and said, "You should be inside."

"You didn't tell her."

She shrugged. "She didn't ask. Bill got to her first. I presumed she knew."

Reasonable. "Why did she think I'd taken Indiana?"

"She asked me where you were."

I raised an eyebrow. "She got back while I was with Bartlett?"

Pam nodded.

"I see." Pam hadn't mentioned it until two weeks later. Normally I'd be pissed, but I told her not to involve me with Sookie's protection unless it was absolutely essential and I was busy at the time. These nights I was always busy.

She side-eyed the dented car. "There will be others here."

As if I didn't know that. As if I couldn't be trusted to be on display. I needed a few minutes peace, not Pam's insolence. I said as calmly as I could, "Go check the club."

Giving me a sharp look, she walked away. As she got to the door Rory came out of it. Listening to their exchange made me want to hit something again.

"I see why you didn't tell her," Rory began. "She would have shot the messenger."

"Sookie doesn't react well to surprise," Pam said stiffly. "She's young, she overreacts."

"Pfft. She's headstrong and rude. But I see why you like her. She has spirit. Is he fit for company?"

Pam glanced back at me. "Don't piss him off. He has work to do." She slipped inside.

Rory's approach spurred me to lock down my emotions as best I could. She stopped when she saw the dent in my car.

"You really hate that thing," she said, eyeing me warily.

Her tense smile irritated me and I was in no mood to be subtle. "What do you want? Spit it out."

She came closer, bracing herself. "I owe you an apology. Sookie is here because of me. I asked Ariadne to send Amelia Broadway three invitations for tonight."

"Knowing I'd be here," I said grimly.

"Yes." She stood taller and looked me in the eye. "I knew Sookie was visiting the witch this weekend. I overheard Thalia mentioning it to Pam."

Fuck me. "Deliberately overheard."

"Eavesdropping is a terrible habit," she said without a trace of guilt.

"So is meddling," I said acidly. "I see you have a ringside seat."

She winced under my glare. "I really am sorry, Eric. I assumed the witch would bring her husband, not Quinn. Levi says the tiger is here as her guest."

"The witch does not like me. You know this."

She flinched, but inched closer. "I thought you'd be pleased to see Sookie. I knew you wouldn't have an opportunity to run into her otherwise."

"Wrong on both counts."

Her eyes widened. "Oh." She leant on the car next to me so we were side by side and asked quietly, "That interrogation she mentioned?"

My turn to wince. "It was … an interesting evening. Pam didn't tell you?" I was honestly amazed she hadn't, but grateful not to have endured the teasing in stereo. One of them was enough.

"No. Did it go better than tonight?"

"There was less shouting." I hesitated. Pam would tell her anyway. "She ... offered herself to me." Rory gasped and I clarified, "Only for a night. She was intoxicated."

"Are you–" I hissed at the sympathy on her face, and she dropped the hand she was about to put on my arm and grimaced. "No wonder things went badly tonight. Nothing stings a woman's pride like a man refusing to bed her."

If only that was all it was. She didn't know the half of it. "Perhaps this will teach you not to meddle without the facts."

She smirked a little. "I'm allowed to meddle with the facts?"

I groaned. I was off my game, leaving that open. "No. Definitely not."

She gave me a small smile and slid sideways along the car until our arms touched. "What did you ask her during this interrogation?"

"I'm needed inside."

She raised an eyebrow and gave me a cut-the-shit look.

I stared coldly back but she held the eye contact.

"Stubborn vampire."

"Infuriating fairy."

"Fine." She shrugged. "You can tell me later."

I growled at her.

She grinned suddenly. "I can always ask Pam."

I closed my eyes and shook my head, feeling a flicker of amusement despite myself. "Spare me that, please."

I felt a light touch on the back of my hand. When I opened my eyes, her face was soft.

"You're unsettled, Eric. May I?"

The quarrel with Sookie had rattled me. I considered briefly and relented, turning my hand to take hers. She interlaced our fingers and her magic washed into me. She didn't let go until we were back in the club.

I needed her soothing. It was a trying night.

…

Ariadne showed me to the booth. I took the centre, speaking idly with Pam until Thrash and his wife joined me. We were both here to mediate the meeting, but Thrash wanted a word about politics first. The human kind, the kind that involved a donation.

Who better to ask than me? My coffers must be overflowing, judging by the numerous requests for funds I was sick of receiving. However Thrash's suggestion had some merit. It would be good publicity. And focusing on our conversation kept my attention off the bar.

Acute hearing was sometimes a curse. Sookie's voice was far too easy to pick out.

Salome* and Neb arrived. The two vampires were well-matched: both short, graceful and dark-skinned. They shared a taste for silk too: Salome was wrapped in chocolate brown silk embroidered with pink flowers. Neb wore a dark grey silk shirt and black dress pants. They nodded deeply to me.

I inclined my head. "Sheriff. Salome."

They slid into the booth to my right, Salome next to me, leaving the space next to the Thrashes for the packmasters.

Salome was slightly younger than me, but Neb was much older. Making him sheriff was a calculated risk. I hardly knew him, but Salome did. He was one of backers behind the Seven Veils. Having shunning the hierarchy for a century, Neb was reluctant to take on Area 3. Perversely that encouraged me to appoint him. That and Oskar thought him reliable, having known him centuries ago in the Old World.

I introduced Thrash. Neb watched me closely, his expressive brown eyes guarded. We were still fencing, feeling each other out. He was proving an excellent administrator and that was enough for now. I hadn't regretted my choice yet.

Ariadne brought those of us with fangs some of Sanctum's blood cocktails, synthetic laced with rare human types. Ethically sourced, she assured the Thrashes with a twinkle in her eye.

"Got any Long Island flavoured with Tea Party supporters?" Thrash deadpanned, raising a smile from Neb.

"David! That's in very poor taste," Thrash's wife scolded him playfully.

"I love a woman who wears the pants," Salome purred, smouldering at the female wolf.

"Oh honey, I don't go for submissives," Genevieve shot back, catching Salome by surprise. Thrash laughed.

Neb and I chuckled quietly. It was rare to see Salome wrong-footed in a game of flirting. I was sorry to see the politician's quick-witted wife leave when the packmasters arrived.

Clay Pellissier was black, barrel-chested and remarkably even-tempered for a wolf. His second, his nephew, was not. Hot-headed and not a fan of the fanged, he had already taken a dislike to Oskar, which was why I was taking Oskar's place tonight. And I provided a familiar face; Neb was unknown to the local packs.

The other packmaster, Mattias Laroche, was a scrawny, dark-haired Cajun. His second was a stocky woman. Mattias seemed neutral towards vampires, but Oskar advised me to tread cautiously with him. He was younger, lacking Clay's experience and restraint.

Clay's pack had been stronger of the two, but Swiftfoot ran out east of the city, in the wetlands towards Slidell. Katrina hit them hard. Laroche's pack ran out of Marrero, in the swamps south of the river where she'd been kinder. Lune de Sang, Blood Moon, were in the ascendant, their strength rising.

Neb wanted both packs on side.

Once the wolves were seated and supplied with beer, Malcolm traced the inlay on the table and chanted some Latin. The hum of other conversations faded, much to my relief.

"You have privacy, ladies and gents. Your majesty," Malcolm said, bowing before he left.

Neb explained his proposal: an openly supernatural tour company, daylight tours of New Orleans for families, night tours for the more adventurous. It was exactly the sort of joint shapeshifter and vampire enterprise I wanted to see. Neb already operated a swamp tour in Area 3 with the Lake Charles packs. He envisioned similar collaboration in Nola, but didn't have time to be directly involved. His idea was a good one and Salome had the experience to make it work.

On cue, Salome took up the baton. With extensive experience in the casino industry, she was perfect to run the vampire end of the tour. And Seven Veils had reputation for dealing fairly with its two-natured employees.

Clay spoke up first when she finished her pitch. "So you ain't looking for muscle. You want showmanship?"

She nodded. "Yes, exactly."

Clay's nephew snorted. "Want us turning tricks like circus animals."

Salome gave him a cool stare. "Performance is an art. Humans will pay handsomely to be entertained."

He folded his arms. "Yeah, and you'll cream off the profits."

"No," Neb said. "We're looking for investors. Put in the dollars; share the rewards."

The cub was not impressed, but Clay was chewing the idea over, watching Mattias to see which way he jumped. Mattias rubbed his chin and leaned forward. "Same return you get?"

"Yes," Salome said, Neb nodding to confirm it.

"Sounds good, Mattias," his second, Beth, encouraged. "Seven Veils pays great. My cousin works there."

Clay's nephew muttered, "Whole damn family loves deaders."

"Get over yourself, Ty," Beth said sharply.

"Me? I'm not the one too good for my own kind."

"What can I say? Chester was better in the sack than you."

The cub sneered. "Your husband know 'bout your taste for fangers, Beth?"

"Theo ain't threatened. He's a real man. Knows how to keep it in his pants, too. I guess you never learnt that lesson."

Clay gave his nephew a sharp look, but the idiot washing his dirty laundry in front of us was too busy snarling at Beth to notice. Clay grabbed his arm and growled, "Settle down, Tyrone."

Thrash cleared his throat. "Let's get back to business. What sort of investment are you looking for Neb?"

Negotiations began in earnest. All they required of me was an assurance of support, so I let the haggling over percentages wash over me, ignoring the faint teasing sounds from the bar.

Mattias was definitely hooked. Beth even named a few pack members involved in community theatre who would be interested. Tyrone glowered, sullen and disapproving. Clay didn't want to miss out, but I knew he didn't have the capital. I mentioned a foundation that gave out small business loans.

Thrash took the hint and elaborated on ways Clay could get financial help. Clay stiffened at the politician's advice – there was long-standing rivalry between Swiftfoot and Alpha One, the well-to-do Metairie pack Thrash ran with – but Clay grudgingly took down some details. If he swallowed his pride his pack would benefit.

Negotiations over, I traced the inlay on the table to unlock the ward. The sounds of the club washed over us at full volume, just as Sookie's laughter floated over from the bar.

Regrettably, I couldn't leave. Not yet.

I chose this venue partly as it was acceptable to all parties, partly so I could see and be seen. Every move I made was being scrutinised by watchful eyes. Two groups of vampires had arrived, and there was a known spy for de Castro amongst them.

They _were_ all drinking Sanctum's expensive blood cocktails though, so at least my coffers were filling.

That was the other reason I picked the club: to check on my investment. Malcolm, Ariadne and Levi were determined to market Sanctum as neutral ground, hence my part-ownership was secret. Other species, the fae especially, would not find it comforting that I had a share in the place, even if I had given my subjects an edict not to cause trouble here on pain of silvering or worse.

Malcolm and Ariadne's wards would eject anyone who broke the rules anyway. No-one had been stupid enough to test them yet, but Levi assured me anyone who did was in for an unpleasant experience.

Rory – the fifth partner – had been confident that more adventurous fae would come for walk on the wild side, despite the vampire presence. A few bold souls were in attendance tonight, wearing the ingenious scent-dampening charms Malcolm had created to ensure they were reasonably safe mingling with us.

I caught Rory's eye across the room and she smiled. She was sitting with two dark-haired males and a blonde female. Her companions looked relaxed, but looks were deceiving with the fae and they were keeping to the other side of the club.

Malcolm arrived at our table with another round of drinks and the conversation turned to neutral topics. Beth and Clay bantered over sports teams with an air of friendly rivalry. Tyrone scowled into his beer. Salome and Mattias argued the merits of various sports cars, Neb listening quietly. Thrash and I compared notes on the BSA's latest batch of bureaucrats.*

It wasn't enough to hold my attention. Each warm laugh Sookie shared with the tiger stung a little more.

When the band played the first notes of zydeco, Beth asked teasingly if Clay's ancient bones were up to cutting a rug. The older wolf grinned broadly at her and they took to the floor with a handful of couples.

Including Sookie and Quinn.

Curious looks and a ripple of whispers from my _loyal_ subjects made me regret one of my first actions as king: sending out Sookie's description with my decree of protection so none of them could claim ignorance of her identity.

That had definitely come back to bite me on the ass.

I'd almost attached an addendum saying no-one could think badly of her, in honour of a playful conversation we once had. I should have added a no-gossip clause instead.

Salome noticed what was attracting all the attention and said casually, "Your ex-wife dances well."

To my left, Thrash pricked up his ears. Fuck. Salome loved gossip, the more malicious the better. I needed to play it cool, steer the conversation to safer ground.

Sookie was dancing enthusiastically, flushed and smiling up at the tiger. I forced myself to watch disinterestedly, and said blandly, "Yes, she moves well."

Salome's eyes flashed with intrigue. "A good dancer, a good fuck, isn't that what they say?"

"Dancers might say that," I said carelessly, not looking at her.

"Oh, my liege, call a spade a spade. I wasn't a dancer, I was a whore."

Mattias choked on his beer.

She gave him a wicked smile. "A profession that meant neither husband nor father owned me. I commanded a high price for my," she paused to lick her lips, "talents."

Mattias gaped at her, stunned. Salome gave him a very predatory smile. Tyrone muttered some unintelligible Cajun that sounded distinctly derogatory.

Eyeing him coldly Neb said, "Whoring was a valued profession in my time."

Tyrone looked away, his disgust poorly hidden.

"Oh yes," Salome drawled, giving me an appreciative glance. "Especially valued by warriors. They were always my favourite, most enthusiastic clients."

Neb eyes lit with amusement. "They who deal death have a taste for pleasure. A taste you share."

I said, with a warning look right at Salome, "Or perhaps she shares their taste for danger."

Salome dipped her head briefly, accepting the mild chastisement for her blunt comment earlier. She raised her glass and toasted me, grinning, "Whores and warriors. Good together like blood and sex."

I chinked my glass against hers and took a sip with a smile showing a hint of fang to reinforce my point.

Thrash shifted uneasily besides me, drawing my attention. He was watching Tyrone, who was scowling at Beth as she danced with his uncle. Mattias saw it too and asked Ty how his wife and children were. Not the most tactful question given Beth's earlier comment about his straying, but it shook the angry wolf's focus from the dance floor.

Salome set her sights on Mattias, asking him to dance just to see him squirm. The wolf rose gamely to her challenge, joking that business partners that danced together made money together.

The zydeco music faded.

Quinn and Sookie stayed on the floor, but Clay had had enough. Beth's teasing about his creaking joints, and the shuffling as they resettled into the booth and Mattias and Salome left, provided a welcome distraction as next dance began.

A waltz.

How fitting.

The dance we shared at Rhodes.

The strength of my reaction surprised me, a ball of loss settling heavily in my gut. I shifted position, clenching a fist under the table and taking care to blank my face. I kept my eyes on Salome, following her and Mattias. As they passed Rory's table, our eyes met and Rory raised her glass to me. I nodded back, unsmiling. Damn her interference.

The waltz brought Quinn and Sookie past our table. I couldn't look away without being obvious, couldn't avoiding seeing his hand stroking the small of her back.

Neb stiffened beside me. He waited until Clay was regaling the wolves with a story about Beth's wild youth and said quietly, "That is the tiger that betrayed Sophie Ann to Nevada?"

Ah. "Yes. Quinn, the pit fighter."

He took a sip of his blood, flicking his eyes to the wolves who were embroiled in their own conversation. He said carefully, "You are magnanimous to allow him into your state."

I shrugged, and answered quietly. "Nevada lost control of the tiger's leash. Quinn is a free agent." Technically. Bartlett told me who held that particular leash now. It hadn't been tugged yet, so I doubted Quinn was aware of it.

"Free agents can be bought," Neb said. "Forgive my directness, Eric. It is many decades since I have been exposed to the cut and thrust of our politics. I am uneasy."

I nodded, understanding his caution only too well. "The tiger is not in a position to do us harm. He is here for a pack issue." Oskar was building bridges with the local packs, and judged it safe to admit the tiger. No vampire in Louisiana was likely to trust him after what had happened to Sophie Ann. We had long memories.

Neb sipped his drink, watching Quinn with an expression of distaste. "My people killed those who betrayed a queen."

"Alas, we must move with the times," I said drily.

He glanced across the table to the wolves, catching Beth's eye. "Yes. And not all shape-changers are disloyal."

"Not all of us are Tiger fans either," she said, winking at him. The male wolves were too engrossed in their discussion to notice her comment.

I chuckled. "I think you made a friend, Neb."

He nodded to her. "Yes. I foresee a profitable alliance with this one."

Beth grinned back, raising her beer. "Here's to that."

I glanced over the booths. Several heads turned away as I did, but I caught two younger vampires looking between Quinn and me with anticipation. I suppressed a hiss of annoyance.

One of them was recently turned. He seemed especially contemptuous of Quinn. Dark, hairy… I knew him. Ah, yes. Herve, Cleo's human. He was with her at Rhodes, when she pulled that arrow out of Quinn's shoulder. He had reason to be aggrieved: the tiger's subsequent betrayal led to Cleo's death. Herve saw I was watching him, stiffened and looked away. Good. He better not do anything stupid here. It would be a pity to end one so young.

As the waltz finished, Salome's flirtatious laugh carried across the room. I glanced over and smirked. Mattias was blushing. Unfortunately, they were standing close to the tiger and I couldn't miss Quinn pulling Sookie into an embrace. He sneered at me over her head.

I supposed I deserved that. There was only one way to respond.

Conscious of the eyes on me, I raised my drink and smirked broadly, as if to say she's all yours. His expression faltered. He looked down as Sookie pulled away from him. She thanked him for the dance with warmth in her voice.

Fortunately the band took a break and the two of them disappeared towards the bar.

Salome came back draped over Mattias, teasing him and complaining that waltzes were far too stuffy for her. Not long after that, the wolves made their excuses. I was moderately pleased. The meeting had gone well, and the relaxed hour of socialising afterwards was more than I'd hoped for. Oskar had been over-cautious about the local packs and their tolerance of us. He always was a pessimist.

Once our furry friends had gone my subjects demanded their share of my time.

I beckoned the younger group, including Herve, over first. The oldest was barely half a century. She made an unsubtle and falsely sympathetic remark about the tiger and my ex-wife – fuck, I hated that term – but wisely didn't push the issue when I shrugged it off.

Another, Herve's friend, made maximum use of the opportunity to waste my time, launching into a hare-brained real estate scheme. Fixing him with a steely glare, I dismissed them all with a flick of my hand. He had the grace not to mutter his discontent until they were back in their seats.

Reluctantly, I waved the older trio over. The youngest, an attractive slender male, was de Castro's spy 'Eddie', doubtless a false name. Milena, a sturdy blonde with Slavic features, had arrived from Russia after she heard Oskar had taken control of New Orleans. They had history. Becker, sandy-haired and boyish, had resided here since before Katrina. Always on the lookout for a way to feed his avarice, he struck up a conversation with Salome about Sanctum. He called it the club of the future, excited by the profits to be made. Pity. He'd missed that boat.

Older vampires were more patient. It was a whole ten minutes before they brought up the gossip dripping down everyone's fangs.

Milena started it, rather bluntly. "I haven't hunted tiger. Is it more challenging than bear?"

Neb said sharply, "We don't hunt the shape-changers here."

Milena looked to me. "If the tiger offends my king, it would be my pleasure to remove his head."

"There is no offence," I said. "And I remind you we are keeping peace with the shapeshifters."

Milena's pale eyes expressed confusion. "He was disrespectful to you."

This was the fucking problem with being king. Nothing was personal. Insolence to me was insolence to the throne, and new kings needed to suppress that ruthlessly. Other states were watching, their dogs snapping at my heels, waiting to see if my grip on Louisiana faltered. It was important to inspire confidence in my subjects.

"Yes. I would be offended if it was my wife," Becker put in.

Salome derided him. "It would be a miracle if you had a wife, you old queen. Such a miser. You wouldn't even spare a ring's worth of gold for a man."

Unruffled Becker insisted, "My point stands. If the tiger insulted me in such a way, he would leave with his tail between his legs."

"She hasn't been mine for years," I said casually, hoping to brush it off. "And the tiger has a habit of tripping over his own tail." One could hope.

"Of course. You traded up for Freyda," Becker conceded. He waited a beat for them all to recall how well that went. "But Freyda is gone. You could reclaim the blonde; a telepath is a valuable asset."

Milena's eyes widened, and she murmured, "Valuable indeed."

She hadn't known what Sookie was. Neb and Salome exchanged a glance, but I ignored them.

"She is under my protection," I said firmly, letting the power roll off me to reinforce the warning.

"Yes. We all remember your majesty's decree," Neb said. He looked first Becker, then Milena in the eye, his influence bearing down on them. His support was unexpected, and very welcome.

"Her talents could be used for the kingdom without harming her," Milena pointed out, unbowed.

I bit back a growl. I couldn't explain why I was allowing Sookie her freedom. Not unless I dropped Brigant's name, which required his consent and wasn't a good idea.

Instead I said calmly, "I owe her a debt from Rhodes, as do many others. And I have no need of her skills at present."

"As you wish," Milena conceded, but Becker frowned and opened his mouth to protest.

Fuck. Before I could think of a way to reinforce my reputation that didn't involve ripping off Becker's head, a movement caught my eye. Rory was crossing the empty dance floor. She came to a halt six feet in front of our table, smiling, her eyes fixed on mine.

"Care to dance, your majesty?"

Neb's eyes widened comically as the enticing scent of female fae wafted over us. Salome licked her plump lips, fangs peeking between them. Becker was openly gaping.

Rory was not wearing one of Malcolm's charms, and that wasn't her scent. Not that the rest of the table knew that. I coughed pointedly. Neb and Salome blinked at me, and moved to let me out of the booth.

I followed Rory as the band picked up their instruments and played a few stray notes. Once we were in the middle of the floor, I whispered low enough that only she would hear, "The scent is your blonde friend?"

"Yes," she whispered back. "Can you stand it?"

I nodded.

"Good." She cast whatever illusion fae used to change their appearance, and her features became breathtakingly ethereal. Eyeing my mouth, which was still fang-free, she leaned closer and breathed, "Your subjects doubt you."

I sent her a wave of frustration in reply.

"Let's change that. You tango?"

Oh, that would be perfect. I grinned. "When needs must."

She signalled the band. They started a bold rhythm, and she walked away from me with a matching sway to her hips, her dress swinging against her calves. I flicked my jacket open, admiring the view.

She turned around, beckoning me. I stalked towards her, until she put her hand on my chest. We circled each other, my eyes never leaving hers.

We stepped apart. I slipped my jacket off and tossed it aside carelessly.

She glided back to me and we danced a few steps together. She pulled away but I caught her outstretched hand at the last second, spinning her back and sliding my arm around her waist to slam her against me. She hooked her leg around mine, the slit of her skirt falling open, and she arched backwards, her hair cascading to the floor.

She lifted up effortlessly and I let her go. She was a fantastic dancer. I was beginning to enjoy myself.

This time I stalked away, just to see what she would do. She followed and pressed against my back, sliding her hands sensually around my shoulders and her bare leg up my side. As I turned to face her, she let go and backed rapidly away towards the band. I chased her, and she slid graceful to one knee, bowing her head. I pulled her to her feet and against me.

"How's my audience now?" I whispered into her ear under cover of the music.

"Green with envy."

Perfect. I glanced towards her fae friends as we turned. A pair of stormy brown eyes met mine.

Ah. Oops.

"Your date is ready to stake me," I breathed as I lifted her off the floor against my hip, and she kicked her legs.

"Date?" she whispered, sliding down my side and finding her feet without hesitation.

"Dark hair, brown eyes, pissed."

"Not my date." She was amused.

I assumed she wasn't attached to him and gave her a smouldering look. She gave as good back and turned away.

I pressed against her back, and she guided us across the floor towards the asshole. I let her lean towards him and pulled her away at the last second, taunting him. She turned to face me, grinning impishly as she wrapped her leg high around my hip. I slid my hand provocatively along her bare thigh just as she whispered directly into my ear.

"That's my son."

Astonished, I froze, abruptly conscious of her naked flesh under my hand. I recovered in time to tighten my grip as she threw herself backwards again, arching towards the floor. Her son was seething, glaring down at her.

Not easy to watch your mother dance like this…

When she flicked back up I took us back to the centre of the floor, but she whispered sharply, "Don't you dare hold back on his account."

She asked for it. Time for a big finish.

As the music crescendoed, I pulled her leg tight around me and used it to lift her off the floor. I dropped fang very obviously and dipped her as we spun. Rory didn't disappoint, arching her neck back with no hesitation. I lunged, pressing my mouth against her jugular, fangs retracting, just as the music ended.

Perfect timing.

The sudden silence was broken by a raucous whistle, followed by thunderous applause. A crowd of spectators had gathered along the glass mural overlooking the dance floor.

I set Rory on her feet and winked at her, sending her a swell of gratitude. Smiling, she kissed me on the corner of my mouth. I stepped back, taking her hand, and bowed to the crowd as she curtseyed.

I said quietly, "Better calm your offspring down; he's frothing at the mouth."

"Pfft. I'm long past mollycoddling him. He's almost two hundred. Time he accepted I have a life."

I laughed. "Good luck with that."

She squeezed my hand and let go. I watched her sashay back to her table, shaking my head. He was in for a tough night. Pam was waiting by the booth. She handed me my jacket and licked her lips. "You smell delicious."

Grinning smugly, I slipped the jacket on and adjusted my cuffs, revelling in the jealousy my audience was trying so desperately to hide.

"I see why the telepath is yesterday's news," Salome said. "The healer _dances_ very well."

Milena stated the obvious. "She's fae. Half at least."

Becker added nonchalantly, "Higher status than a human telepath. And dripping with jewels. Those emeralds are flawless."

Greedy as ever, that one.

Watching me closely, Neb murmured, "A more talented asset too?"

"Perhaps." I was non-committal, but Rory had certainly proved herself on that front.

Eddie spoke up, with false concern. "She doesn't have a protection decree."

I raised an eyebrow.

De Castro would be a fool to try anything. Rory wasn't fragile and attacking her would only gain him more enemies. For a start, the treaties with the fae were active again now the portals had reopened. And she had Bartlett and Russell's respect already. As a healer willing to work on vampire, she was worth her weight in gold. De Castro would be vilified if he spoilt that.

"Miss Kingfisher hardly needs protecting," I said. "She's not human. Gentlemen, ladies. It's time I left."

They nodded respectfully. Good, my reputation was somewhat restored. I stopped for a brief word with Ariadne about the club, and then went out the back. Pam followed me.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "Neb had a point about Rory. She _is_ a talented asset. And she knows how to behave." Fingers of her curiosity poked at me. Pam was _dying_ to know what was going on between me and the healer.

So was I.

I ignored Pam's fishing, and threw my car keys at her. She caught them and scowled. "Is his highness above being seen in that piece of shit?"

"Exactly. Drive it to Oskar's. I'll meet you there."

"Fuck a zombie," she muttered as I leapt into the sky.

…..

I landed on a deserted rooftop halfway to Oskar's. Distracted, the comments about Rory rattling around my head, I paced the roof.

Rory had put her talents to use for me willingly, more than once. She understood how to play to an audience, how to play politics. She held some power over me – having thanked her, I carried her mark – but amazingly I trusted her not to abuse it.

I liked her. Sorcha wasn't a doormat. She was sassy, and challenging, and … she cared for me. Truly cared.

At first I thought that was some reverse saviour-fixation, that she over-identified with me after she experienced my torture second-hand. But as time went on, I realised there was more to it.

Not love, she wasn't in love with me.

At least I hoped not, that would fucking complicate things.

But … something.

She couldn't or wouldn't feed me her blood, but she did make more sense than Sookie. On paper. But Freyda looked good on paper and I wanted to rip her fangs out most nights in Oklahoma.

If only it was that simple.

That tango with Sorcha was just an act. An enjoyable act, but it didn't stir my blood. Or anything else.

No-one made me feel like Sookie did.

Sookie. Our fight.

I leaned against an air vent and swore softly. Not all those feelings were good.

Sorcha's meddling was fucking annoying, but all she did was pass on some invitations. I smirked. And she had bent over backwards, literally during that tango, to make up for her fuck-up.

My smirk faded.

It wasn't Sorcha's fuck-up. Things had fucked up between me and Sookie long ago.

Misunderstandings, the lack of trust on both our parts, our differences… Victor's death. Ocella. A whole slew of problems, in fact. Even if Sookie's feelings for me had been stronger, deeper… She wanted things I couldn't give. It was fucked beyond repair.

And it was a distraction I could ill afford when I had a whole state depending on me. I would let it die. The past was just that: past.

I shook myself. Time to deal with the present. Checking the streets were deserted, I took to the sky.

…

Landing on the roof of Sophie Ann's old headquarters, I waved the guards away and went down the stairs without any fanfare. Eventually they'd get used to my unannounced arrivals. I strode down the quiet corridors to Oskar's office. His door was closed and Pam was perched on a chair in the anteroom, looking at her phone.

"You took your time. He's just finishing a call."

I sprawled on the couch. This room held many memories from Sophie Ann's time. And recent ones, from a moonless night in February.

The blood had washed out of the carpet well.

I hadn't spilt much that night – only a few trigger-happy idiots eager to meet their makers. With several key vampires away at the Amun sheriff conference and plenty of inside knowledge, subduing Teresa's guards had taken only minutes.

Minutes that ended with Felipe's regent on her knees in this very room, my sword on the back of her neck.

I gave Teresa a choice. Lose her head, or surrender and I would help her escape Felipe's wrath. She chose to flee, leaving on the flight I had waiting for her. Back to Italy, to her maker, who would protect her from de Castro.

I expected she would. She owed Felipe fealty, but she wouldn't fight to the death for him. She wasn't the type. She was an officious bean-counter like Sandy Seacrest before her.

The takeover had gone smoothly. Simultaneous attacks in Baton Rouge, Lake Charles and Alexandria secured Areas 2, 3 and 4 without a hitch thanks to our excellent intelligence gathering.

That was Salome's doing. She and the Seven Veils cartel had grown tired of Nevada's rule after an attempt to muscle in on their profits. Madden had wisely left them alone during his regency, but while Felipe was recovering from his injuries someone in Vegas had gotten nervous and greedy.

A fatal combination.

Salome was very eager to get rid of the threat to her income. She whispered discontent in certain ears, noted reactions. She told me which rats would jump ship, which needed cornering and staking.

Of course, Area 5 was different.

Pam was away at the sheriff conference. She bitched non-stop about missing the fight, but it meant dear Felipe couldn't cry treason. Even better, Pam's reluctance to attend convinced Teresa I was still injured and in no state to defend myself, let alone stage a coup. In a deliciously ironic twist, Teresa ordered Thalia to accompany Pam, thinking that left me open to attack. In reality, it gave Pam a ferocious guard at the most critical, dangerous time.

My old retinue gleefully switched sides, joining with Rasul and his small force to hunt down the assassins Felipe sent to dispatch me. Once the state was secure, I summoned Pam home. She left the conference in a rush, obviously distraught. Everyone, Felipe's sheriffs included, assumed I'd been ended.

There was nothing Felipe could do about me summoning Pam after the fact. Not when he had so recently and emphatically set a precedent of honouring maker's commands over sheriff's fealty oaths when he released me to Freyda.

Ah, poetic justice.

And he didn't have an arm to wave about it. Literally.

I'd seen that for myself when I video-conferenced him to inform him I'd taken Louisiana. In case no-one had been brave enough to break it to him. Losing an arm made him cranky.

Flamboyant as ever, he was wearing a red silk sling over his stump. Watching him fail to contain his fury as he conceded the state to me – pending a ruling from the Amun council to make it official, of course – was a memory I would treasure for a long, long time.

Weeding out the last of his minions took a few weeks, but it was amazing what a large war chest and a network of allies could accomplish. It was quick and relatively bloodless, exactly what Louisiana needed: she'd suffered enough losses.

Now she needed a period of stability to bring older, more cautious vampires back, along with their money and strength. Good for revenue, good for keeping the jackals from my door.

To that end, I installed older powerful sheriffs: Neb in Lake Charles and Oskar in New Orleans. Rasul was rewarded with Alexandria, sparsely populated and suitable for a younger sheriff. Area 5 was somewhat under-powered, but Pam had Thalia and the rest of my still-loyal retinue and I had allies to either side in Texas and Mississippi, and a buffer to the north. Arkansas had signed a non-aggression treaty with me.

Red Rita. Not Joseph.

I was right to be wary of his relationship with Stan. Joseph had not been satisfied with the offer of Arkansas. Not at all. He had bigger appetites, setting his sights on Texas, planning to betray Stan and end him on the night of the coup.

Russell got wind of it somehow. An ex-lover in Texas or perhaps from Bartlett, who seemed to have eyes everywhere. The details mattered not. Even that major problem had been easily overcome. Stan's simple, elegant solution was to approach Red Rita and offer her Arkansas for herself, free of de Castro. She saw the advantages and agreed.

The way Stan told it, Joseph was still gaping in surprise when he severed his treacherous neck.

Amun had given me and Rita their official approval a few weeks after the takeover, taking a dim view of Felipe's protests and dismissing his petition for compensation. No-one liked having a clan outsider in charge of New Orleans, and my choice of Oskar for sheriff convinced them I was the right monarch to restore the jewel in Amun's crown.

Bluntly put, they missed the handsome tithes it had generated for them in the past.

Approaching Oskar had been one of my earliest moves. I sprung the offer on him in New York, in the ruins of his office, back in December. Right after he tried to end me, the latest in a long line of attempts that littered our turbulent history. From both sides.

We had just broken apart. I was crouched warily by the door. He was leaning on a dented filing cabinet, nursing a broken wrist.

With gritted teeth and a sickening crunch, he reset it. A second later I did the same for my dislocated shoulder. He pulled a silver dagger out of the ruins of the chair I'd been sitting just moments before. Wiping my blood off it onto his jeans, he glared at the slash it had put in my arm, already half healed.

We were still evenly matched. I had more reach and strength; he was slightly faster as he had fifty years on me. Not enough when I knew an attack was coming.

I broke the silence by offering him New Orleans. It took him by surprise. After a second, he barked out a bitter laugh.

"Is that meant to console me?"

"No."

He spat blood and wiped his mouth on his ruined sleeve. I pulled the chunk of shattered desk he'd tried to stake me with out of my side with a grunt, pressing down on the well of blood as the wound closed.

"Come back tomorrow," he growled.

I limped out without another word.

Our next meeting had been distinctly frosty, but a week later he accepted, agreeing to take Area 1 and Louisiana's upcoming seat on the Amun council. It gave him a reason to get out of New York. He'd been settled there for some time and I suspected he needed a change.

Too many memories.

Oskar's voice pulled me out of mine and back to the present.

"How did it go with the packs tonight?" he asked, standing in the doorway to his office. "Did Neb get what he wanted?"

"Yes," I said, standing.

Pam and I followed him inside to discuss the salient points. As always when the three of us met, Karin's absence loomed large, but none of us spoke of it.

...

* * *

**Footnotes:**

1\. Salome is based on the vague description in the books, plus my imaginings. Not the TB version.

2\. BSA: the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.

3\. The tango was inspired by the film Take the Lead. I tried to do it justice.

If you didn't read Trust, you might be surprised that Rory and Eric seem so close here. Suffice it to say that their friendship deepened considerably during the six months Sookie was away.


	12. Eye of the Storm

**A/N: **Hi everybody! Hope you're all having great holidays so far.

Let me know if I've missed any typos - I'm a bit under the weather today. Blooming sinuses. Here is last week's chapter. We've jumped back in time to Sookie getting that drink. Let's see the evening from her POV.

* * *

**Eye of the Storm**

* * *

One gin and tonic couldn't blot out Rory's accusations. She'd hit my last nerve, raking up that whole mess with Eric right after I'd finally buried it. Damn that bitch, and the unwelcome feelings she'd stirred up.

Guilt. Regret. Doubt.

Why hadn't I tried to do something? Maybe–

No. I wasn't going down that road. She was dead wrong. There was nothing I could have done. Focusing on my anger at her, I emptied my glass and signalled for a refill.

Quinn growled, "What did that bastard do, babe?"

"Easy tiger," Amelia whispered. "Levi is watching. I don't want to get thrown out."

Amelia's concern hit me from one side and Quinn's anger buffeted me from the other. My own emotions were stormy enough without theirs. I snapped, "It's none of your business, Quinn. I can take care of myself."

Amelia glanced over at Diantha and side-eyed me, but wisely didn't say anything. Quinn stewed in silence while the bartender fixed my drink. I took it and leaned against the bar, looking round. Levi was over by the entrance, eyeing Quinn discreetly, but nobody else was paying us any attention. My audience with royalty had gone unremarked, thank goodness.

A flash of red on the dance floor caught my eye. Pam was talking to Malcolm Craw, the witch nodding repeatedly as she rattled off what looked like instructions. Orders from his imperial high-handedness, no doubt. I turned away, squashing that line of thought.

Amelia suggested cautiously, "We can call it a night, Sookie."

"I'm fine. Really." The second dose of gin was starting to kick in. I gave her a tight smile, but she didn't buy it.

Quinn glared over my head in Pam's direction and muttered, "I'll stake him and his fucking child."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said sharply. "It was that damn Rory Kingfisher anyway."

He frowned. "Who?"

I could have kissed him. Finally, someone who'd never heard of her.

Amelia spoilt that by looking around eagerly. "She's here? What does she look like?"

"Tall. Red hair. Green dress," I said curtly.

"I can't see her."

"She just stepped out." Amelia never could take a hint.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "If she comes back, could you introduce–"

"That's not a good idea."

"But didn't she help you with," she flicked her eyes to Quinn and looked apologetic, "Sam and everything?"

I snorted. "Depends what you mean by help. I don't trust her. We're not close, Ames."

"Oh. Okay."

Bless her, she dropped the subject, even though she was dying to know more about Rory. Or rather Rory's magic. But I wasn't off the hook.

"I'm going to powder my nose," she said, subtle as a brick. _Come with? s_he prodded mentally.

"Fine," I muttered, draining my second drink and leaving the glass on the bar. I walked off without another word, Amelia trailing behind me.

Her timing sucked. I was within spitting distance of the door to the back offices when it opened and Eric came in.

With Rory.

Holding her hand.

Something I doubted Amelia or anyone else noticed, because Eric let go pretty damn fast. Not fast enough for me to doubt what I'd seen, though, or to stop the memories stabbing at my heart. All the times Eric held my hand like that, circling his thumb over my knuckles to comfort me. I shot into the safety of the bathroom before either of them spotted me, Amelia hot on my heels.

Once we were inside, she blurted out, "Was that Rory?"

Damn. "Yes," I admitted tightly.

"Why was she with… Oh."She gave me a sympathetic look, thinking: _That has to burn._

"It's not like that Ames," I said stiffly, although I couldn't have said exactly what it was like.

"Okay. If you say so. What's going on between you and Eric?"

"A whole lot of nothing, Ames." I glanced at the attendant. I really didn't want to say more, but Amelia wasn't going to let it go.

"Really?" _What if she still –?_

"Yes, really. That's over."

"Oh."_ Thank God. She's moved on. Wish I could say the same. _"Why d'you go off with him like that then?"

"Did you know he's king?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "Didn't you?"

"Not until tonight."

"What? Didn't Pam–"

"Nope," I interrupted. "No-one said a word."

"No way. I thought you knew. That's why I was worried about…" She side-eyed the statue-like attendant and whispered, "Thalia and all."

"Oh." I sagged against one of the beautiful marble sinks. "Pam assured me Eric doesn't have anything to do with that."

"And you believed her?" she asked, incredulous.

I shrugged helplessly. What was I going to do if Eric was involved? Get rid of the guards? On the whole, I'd rather be alive and pissed with Eric. The alternative was a lot less pleasant.

Amelia frowned. "What did he want? Does he want you to work for him?"

"No. Nothing like that. I wanted to talk to him, actually. I needed … to say my piece."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Bet he loved that."

"Oh, he was just thrilled." I sighed. "Look, Ames, I don't want my issues with Eric to ruin your night."

"You're sure you don't want to leave?" She bit her lip.

"I'm sure." I made an effort to smile for real. "Forget Eric. Let's have some fun."

Amelia used the facilities – after all, she was pregnant – and I resolved to enjoy the rest of the night if it killed me. But when we left the restroom, I couldn't help glancing over at that booth. Eric was indeed sitting in it, deep in conversation with David Thrash of all people. Distracted, I wasn't minding where I was going and almost walked into Pam. Vampires didn't bump into ordinary mortals; she sidestepped swiftly.

"Sorry, Pam. Didn't see you there."

"In this dress?" she said drily. "I'm hardly camouflaged."

The two vampires following her – one male, one female – stilled, examining Amelia and me with interest.

"Amelia," Pam said warmly. "You're looking tasty tonight."

Amelia said with less warmth, "Pam. You look... striking."

"That's what I was going for," Pam replied with a grin.

The other female vampire looked Amelia up and down with heat in her eyes. She was hefty for a vamp, her ample hips and bosom exaggerated by her lack of height and a tight silk dress. She had long black hair, skin that had paled from olive, striking grey eyes and a wide sensual mouth.

"Who is this, Pamela?" she asked, smiling at Amelia.

Pam answered calmly, "Amelia Broadway, witch. And Sookie Stackhouse."

Immediately both vampires zeroed in on me. Fun times. I guessed they recognised my name because his _majesty_ had graced me with his protection.

"Introductions go both ways, Pam," I pointed out testily, irritated by the way the pair were scrutinising every blemish and line on my face.

"This is Salome. And Neb, sheriff for Lake Charles," she said in a bored tone.

I stiffened. So the female was Mickey's maker. I sure didn't think much of her taste in men.

"Oh, you run Seven Veils," Amelia said, looking at Salome with a flicker of curiosity.

"Yes, but I tire of casinos. You are local? Which coven?"

"Dumaine Street. Are you interested in hiring us? Here, take my card." Amelia pulled one out of her purse. "If you ever need anything unusual, curios, artefacts or the like, call my store."

I shifted uneasily, wondering if I should warn her that Salome might be as psycho as her child. Salome noticed and smiled toothily at me. It wasn't at all reassuring. She said, "Your friend does not approve of me. Are you Christian, Sookie Stackhouse?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered firmly.

That amused her for some reason. "I am not the dancing girl who asked for the baptist's head on a silver plate, nor am I the Salome who bore witness at the carpenter's crucifixion. I am not quite that old."

I gave her a level look. "I didn't think you were."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then what is your beef with me?"

"Salome," Neb said softly, speaking for the first time, "you have surrounded yourself with sycophants if not being instantly adored confounds you. Not everyone has to worship at your feet."

She turned to him and said arrogantly, "Most humans do."

"Yes, but she is a rare creature, this one."

I felt a thrill of fear at his words, so close to Ocella's. I hadn't paid much attention to Neb. He was not a striking vampire and he'd hung back from the conversation.

I looked at him properly. He was short and slender, with delicate, almost feminine hands. He'd been turned in his late forties and not for his looks – he was bald, with a long nose and prominent ears. His skin would have been mid-brown in life, matching his eyes. Large, intelligent and framed by thick black lashes, they were his best feature. I realised with a jolt that he was very old, probably far older than Eric, and he had been watching me closely the whole time.

When I finished my inspection, he nodded to me, his eyes amused. Salome blinked at his gesture of respect, but it made me bold.

I said as casually as I could, "Neb. That's an unusual name."

"Nebhotep would be even more out of place, I think."

"Nebhotep … Hotep means peace, right?." Imhotep meant man of peace. I'd read that after watching a movie. The real Imhotep was an architect and a doctor to his Pharaoh, nothing like the Hollywood version.

Neb blinked in surprise. "Yes. Nebhotep, master of peace. A good name for a scribe."

An Egyptian scribe. Wow. "Guess you're in the right clan."

He smiled faintly. "Perhaps not. I was born under Nefertiti, when worshipping Amun-Ra was out of favour."

It was my turn to gape. Nefertiti ruled Egypt over three millennia ago. "You must be–"

"Very old," Pam cut in. That was an understatement. "I hate to interrupt, but it's time Neb."

Neb nodded to me politely before they moved on, towards the dance floor. A slight frown marred Salome's smooth face as she turned away. Maybe Neb wasn't usually so chatty. Or Salome didn't like humans who were more interested in history than falling over themselves to suck up to her.

…

Back at the bar with Quinn, I switched to coke and cast around for a neutral topic. "So, how's Frannie?"

"Good. She got married last year. Decent enough guy. Twoey."

"That's great," I said, trying to sound perky.

Quinn frowned into his glass and I got the impression he wasn't completely thrilled with Frannie's choice. "Yeah. He even found a place for mom close to them, so Frannie can visit. Mom seems to like it."

"That's good, her being near family." As long as she didn't escape and eat anyone.

"I guess," Quinn mumbled.

Amelia rolled her eyes at me, less than sympathetic to Mama Quinn's plight having seen the were-tigress on the edge of losing it. She looked across the club and flinched suddenly, shrinking against the bar like she wanted to hide.

Concerned, I glanced over my shoulder, but the place had gotten busier and I couldn't pinpoint who or what had spooked her. Diantha was watching a group making their way towards our end of the bar – three men and a woman, werewolves from their minds. As I turned back to Amelia, she grabbed my arm, her thoughts screaming at me.

_Don't say anything about the baby. He doesn't know._

Amelia's paramour, Tyrone, was here. I nodded slightly to show I'd heard her, miraculously keeping my face blank, as a deep voice called from behind us: "John Quinn, you're a sight for sore eyes."

The oldest wolf, a stocky African American in his fifties, was closing on us.

"Clay Pellissier. Good to see you," Quinn said, breaking into a wide grin as they shook hands.

He wasn't Tyrone. I breathed a sigh of relief; he was too old for Amelia. The younger guy with him was handsome in a rough masculine way. Like Tray.

Yeah, that was him.

Amelia faked a polite smile quite convincingly under the circumstances. Tyrone barely glanced at her, but he could hardly acknowledge her in front of everybody. Curious and worried for Amelia, I lowered my shields as Clay introduced the group.

"You remember Tyrone, my nephew. Mattias Laroche, packmaster of Lune de Sang, and his second Beth."

Mattias, a thin dark-haired Were full of nervous energy, shook Quinn's hand vigorously. Beth, husky and a little older than me, looked to be Cajun like her packmaster. She barely nodded to Quinn, seemingly unaffected by his reputation. Tyrone, however, couldn't wait to step forward and shake Quinn's hand, with a big old grin on his face and a wave of admiration that bordered on hero-worship.

"Quinn. With two pretty ladies," he said. "Gotta leave some for the rest of us, tiger. Who do we have here?"

Quinn was none too pleased by Tyrone's blatant appraisal of me. It wasn't just an act to hide his connection to Amelia either; Tyrone fancied himself a player. Quinn wasn't the only one who disapproved. Beth's mouth set in hard line.

Quinn replied gruffly, "This is my … friend Sookie, and her friend Amelia."

Ignoring Quinn's not-so-subtle implication that I was more than his friend, I held my hand out politely. Tyrone made a big show of kissing it, giving my chest a long glance as he bent over. With the skin contact I got lust and swaggering bravado. He'd love to 'win' me from Quinn.

My eyes met Beth's over his head. She thought he was an idiot too.

Tyrone treated Amelia to a casual handshake and disinterested hello. Poor Amelia played it cool, but she was a mess inside. Then he winked at her brazenly, and her anxiety spiked.

Luckily his uncle and the other packmaster missed that, having turned away to ask Quinn about the Belle Chasse pack contest. Beth didn't. Sharp-eyed and in the right position, she also caught Amelia's panic.

Her mind pulsed with anger. Oh-oh.

Oblivious to the trouble he'd stirred, Tyrone turned away to gossip with the menfolk. Half listening to them, I picked up that Belle Chasse were coyotes, a new pack. Clay said coyotes were natural troublemakers, but I took that with a pinch of salt. Werewolves tended to look down on other were-animals.

Meanwhile, Beth was silently weighing Amelia up. I didn't know what to say to ease the tension. Amelia took a nervous sip of her drink and Beth stared at Amelia's wedding rings, scowling. Amelia paled and made a hurried excuse, shooting off to talk to someone on the other side of the club.

Beth stepped closer to me, lowering her voice. "Tell your friend: Once a stray, always a stray. Wouldn't want her getting her hopes up."

Something in her face made me ask quietly, "Know that from personal experience?"

Her mouth twisted. "Long time ago. Everyone makes mistakes." She nodded at Clay. "I know the family real well."

Oh," I said lamely. She must know the injured party, Tyrone's wife. I wanted to defend Amelia, say she wasn't a home-wrecker, but if the baby was Tyrone's … What a mess.

Beth gave me a once over. "You're not the usual tiger groupie."

"Guess I'm not."

"You're not a friend, either. Quinn one of your mistakes?"

I froze in confusion. Why would she say that? A burst of hearty male laughter spared me from answering.

Clay said, "Better not keep the king waiting, Mattias."

Eric. I couldn't escape him. I wondered darkly what _his maj-ass-ty _wanted with them. He wasn't fond of wolves unless they owed him favours.

"As long as we're drinking on the deader's dime," Tyrone muttered. "Rich fucker."

Clay said sternly, "Watch your mouth. You've got cubs to think of. Sarah don't need to be widowed."

Maybe one more cub than Clay thought. I cringed internally, hoping for Amelia's sake that this Sarah wasn't as vengeful as certain other twoey women. Debbie Pelt, for instance. Refusing to look towards Eric, I stared resolutely into my coke as the four of them left.

Quinn touched my arm. "Sorry about that, babe. The packs bring a lot of business my way."

"Oh, that's okay. You gotta work the room, right?"

"Yeah. Ty is a jackass though."

"Oh? I thought he was a wolf."

He chuckled.

Grinning back, I said, "His ass was definitely showing tonight. Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much. Clay says his mind is stuck at fifteen."

I wondered what Amelia had seen in him. A walk on the wild side? Surely Bob wasn't _that_ boring."How old is he?"

Quinn shrugged. "Thirty-ish."

Old enough to know better. Old enough for a wife and three kids.

"Man has kids, long past time he grew up," Quinn said, echoing my thoughts. He looked at me with those soulful eyes. "Some of us don't need our feet held to the fire to do that."

"I can see that," I said softly.

There was a weight behind his eyes that hadn't been there before. Tijgerin had gone back to Europe, insistent on following the old ways and raising their son alone, trampling on Quinn's heart in the process. I patted his arm awkwardly to show my sympathy.

…

Another gin and tonic chased away that awkwardness, and we fell into an easy teasing banter. A handsome distraction was just what I needed. I laughed at his jokes, brushed his arm, flicked my hair back. Flirted my ass off in other words, and Quinn appreciated every second.

Twice I weakened and looked over at the booth.

The first time, Eric, in profile, was impassive. Tyrone was arguing with Beth, so out of curiosity I reached out mentally. Everything was distorted, as if the whole booth was underwater. Malcolm's privacy spell was impressively effective.

The second time, they were all deep in conversation, except for Tyrone, who looked pissed, and Eric, still impassive. I hoped he wasn't settling a dispute. I didn't want to be around if things got ugly.

Rory wasn't sitting with him. Probably insisted on having nothing to do with his vampire bullshit, like I should have. Or Eric had learned from his mistakes and kept her safely out of things. Not that I cared about her neck after the way she'd spoken to me.

I shook those thoughts off and refocused on Quinn, and pleasant conversation. Some time later Amelia returned.

"Sorry. I bumped into an old friend," she said sheepishly. The 'friend' was an older woman with dark hair and expensive clothes. More than a friend at some point, from their body language. They'd been as thick as thieves for almost an hour.

"Oh, don't worry," I said cheerfully. "We can entertain ourselves, can't we Quinn?"

"Sure, babe."

Amelia noticed how close we were sitting and gave me a knowing smile. I shrugged it off. I was enjoying his company. Nothing wrong with that.

The atmosphere was fantastic. A few couples were out on the dance floor. When the band struck up a zydeco, Quinn grinned at me. I remembered too. Dancing with Quinn was my one good memory of Jason's ill-fated first wedding.

Quinn took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I'd forgotten how good he looked like that."Shall we, babe?"

"Why not?" I said, relaxed by the alcohol and the company. Hooking my hand over Quinn's warm muscular arm, I felt his anticipation and pleasure.

It wasn't until he led me down the steps that I remembered Eric was even there. Quinn was about the only man who could eclipse him. Literally in this case: Quinn's large frame was between me and his fang-ship. As we walked out on to the floor, I looked over at the other side of the room.

Rory was sitting with three fairies. Genuine fairies from their minds. Their body language was intriguing. The woman, a blonde, was very touchy with the male next to her _and_ Rory. The other guy couldn't take his eyes off Rory. If he was a human, I'd say he had the hots for her.

Rory was playing games. Eric wouldn't like that. Arlene loved men fighting over her, but I wouldn't have pegged Rory as that trashy. And she'd lectured me on the difference between love and petty jealousy, the hypocrite.

Quinn tugged on my hand and I had to concentrate on my footwork. It was a real pleasure dancing with him. For a big man he sure could move. I saw Beth, dancing with Tyrone's uncle. Clay cut a fine figure and she was grinning at him. I found myself beaming like an idiot at Quinn too. It was hard not to; zydeco was so exuberant.

We shifted so I was facing Eric's booth. The other packmaster, the scrawny one, was choking on his beer, looking at Salome. The privacy spell was down, but I wasn't close enough to hear them. I sure as hell caught the leer Salome gave Eric, and his fangy smile as they toasted each other.

No wonder she recalled Mickey on Eric's say-so. Looked like more than favours had passed between them. I wasn't so ill-mannered as to crane my neck to see how Rory was taking that, but I might have smiled a little wider. Not very charitable, but ask me if I cared.

The dance turned me away from the booth just as Ty scowled at Beth. Stretching out my mental feelers, I searched out his snarly mind, wanting to know if she'd said something about Amelia to him. He was a seething mass of jealousy and longing.

For Beth. His old flame.

Guess she was the one that got away. Amelia really could pick 'em: a horn dog fixated on another woman.

By the end of the dance, I was glowing and slightly out of breath. Quinn's hand was hot in mine. He smiled down at me.

"Let's dance another, babe."

"Human here. I need a breather."

He grinned even wider. "Ain't that the truth." The next song started, and he said softly, "I never did get to waltz with you."

No, he hadn't.

Not at Rhodes. Eric had swooped in to take his place after Quinn, my honey at the time, had taken an arrow in the shoulder for me. I still felt guilty about that. It wasn't just the bond that allowed Eric to sweep me off my feet that night, my attraction to him had played a part too.

"Okay. A waltz it is." I owed him one.

Taking our positions, the heat of Quinn's hand warmed the small of my back. His mind was a quiet hum of pleasure. As we began, I saw the scrawny packmaster partnering Salome ahead of us. Guess she hadn't aged out of cross-dating. Go figure.

I couldn't resist a peek at Eric. His face was blank, deliberately blank. He was annoyed. Or bored. He was giving Salome and the wolf a true predator's stare, locked on and unblinking. My money was on pissed. I knew how he felt about twoeys.

As Quinn swept me around the floor, I saw Rory smile and raise her glass to Eric. I didn't see his reaction, but whatever it was, her face fell. I couldn't make sense of what was going on between them, but it sure looked like Rory was the one doing the chasing.

That explained the moon-eyed fairy. Guess Rory was unsure of Eric's affections.

I sure understood that. I sympathised for all of a second, until I realised the waltz was bringing us towards Eric's table. Perhaps it was tacky of me to be dancing with Quinn in front of an ex, but I was a free woman. And Eric had other women on his mind tonight; I figured he'd hardly notice.

Despite that, I felt uncomfortable.

Quinn was uneasy too. He kept my back to Eric's booth as we passed. I appreciated that and the comforting way his thumb was stroking me. I smiled up at him and he squeezed my waist.

"Having fun, Sookie?"

"You betcha."

We passed two tables of vamps. One kept looking our way, a snappy dresser with dark hair. He was real familiar, but I couldn't place him. Perhaps he'd been in the abbey when Sophie-Ann and Threadgill had their tiff.

Whatever. Vampires be damned. I focused on the warm man in my arms.

And what a fine figure of a man he was. Some steamy scenes from our past came flooding back to me: my room, Hadley's kitchen, eating breakfast together. I managed not to blush like a school girl, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from his.

_I missed you babe, _he thought gently at me.

"Me too," I whispered and regretted my choice of words immediately. Sam. The mistakes I'd made there, the reminder that I was freshly divorced and already in another man's arms.

"Don't," he said, misinterpreting my expression. _Don't regret what happened with us. Damn bloodsuckers. Not your fault._

I smiled weakly at him.

I'd been hard on him when we broke up, selfishly expecting him to put me above his family. Unfair, but it was how I felt at the time.

After three years of Bernie, Quinn's mom didn't seem so bad. She couldn't help her fragile mental state, and at least she and Frannie had wanted me to stay with Quinn. More to see him happy than for my own sake, but that was a damn sight better than wanting to replace me with a shifter.

The waltz came to an end. Salome laughed loudly a few feet to our left, a throaty sensual laugh, and the packmaster blushed to his hairline. I looked up at Quinn, a wide smile on my lips. He grinned back, impulsively wrapping me in his arms and resting his chin on my head.

Crushed gently against his muscular chest, Quinn's scent surrounded me. It was all man, bringing to mind things a lady shouldn't think in public. The images from Quinn's head didn't help, images that told me he wouldn't object at all to a repeat of past performances.

I wasn't sure a trip down memory lane would be good for either of us. I shifted slightly, breaking the contact between our bare arms. The images stopped but I felt Quinn's surprise, followed by confusion and disbelief.

Figuring he'd noticed my discomfort, I pulled back, out of his arms. Not wanting to hurt his feelings further, I said warmly, "Thank you. That was lovely."

"Any time, babe," he said, smiling down at me a little stiffly.

The band were taking a break. I gestured to the bar. "Let's make sure Amelia hasn't gotten in any trouble."

As we crossed the floor he asked, "Trouble with that old flame of hers?"

"Old flame?" I asked, praying he didn't know about Tyrone.

"Yeah." He took the steps in one bound and looked around for Amelia while I caught up. "Edith, the one she was talking to earlier."

"You know her?"

He shrugged. "She's a witch. One of the other covens. She, uh, likes skinny brunettes."

"Oh. There she is," I said, spotting Amelia with Malcolm. I set off towards her.

"Should've put money on that," Quinn muttered.

"Oh hush, you. She's networking, not flirting."

"Sometimes it's the same thing."

"Is that so?" I said, raising my eyebrows and turning to look at him.

"You've got nothing to worry about." He grinned. "Clay and Mattias aren't my type."

"Uh-huh." Maybe the blonde bartender was though. "Anyway, Malcolm is taken."

"Is he? You met him before?"

I shook my head, smiling enigmatically as we reached Amelia. A girl had to keep some secrets.

…

The Weres stopped to say their goodbyes a short while later,and David Thrash motioned me aside. I stepped away from the group, wondering what the former Lieutenant Governor wanted with me.

"Gené told me what you did at the abbey that night," he said quietly, "so I'm returning the favour." He shot a glance at Quinn. "Don't play games with Northman."

I bristled. "What did that asshole say?"

"Nothing. He's too proud." He narrowed his eyes. "But no man likes his _ex-wife_ dangling another man under his nose."

Trying not to draw attention, I whispered forcefully, "I did no such thing. Eric couldn't care less what I–"

He interrupted sharply, "But he cares about his throne. Kings can't lose face."

"And don't I know it," I muttered.

He gave me pitying look. "Gené is fond of you. I'd hate to tell her something bad happened to you. Tonight was a mistake. Tread carefully."

I huffed at his back as he left to join his wife. Eric didn't care, I was sure of it. Glowering, I turned back to the others just as Beth said something to Amelia that made her flinch. Oh Lord.

"Beth," I said with fake cheerfulness. "I just love your shoes. Where did you get them?"

Beth snorted. "I take it back. You _are_ like all his other dumb groupies."

Before I could add real rudeness to my mistakes, Beth turned on her heel. Her packmaster took Quinn's card and followed her out. Clay shook Quinn's hand, but when he left Tyrone hung back, licking his lips nervously.

Amelia panicked, but Tyrone ignored her and beckoned Quinn over, speaking to him in a low voice. I heard Neb's name and stepped closer.

His back to me, Quinn sneered. "... doesn't scare me. I have connections."

"This ain't the pits."

"Lucky for you," Quinn rumbled, the threat clear in his tone. "You wouldn't last five minutes."

"And you won't last five seconds against that deader," Tyrone insisted. "Look man, be careful. That's all I'm saying."

Quinn scowled after Tyrone as he hurried to catch up with Clay.

Unhappy but relieved her beau had ignored her, Amelia was flagging. She stifled a yawn and I realised it was almost three in the morning. She was tired, pregnant, and the mood had definitely soured.

"Quinn, we should go," I said.

He cast a dark look towards Eric's table as we left.

…

Sunlight streamed through the shutters. Lying on my side, I rubbed sleep from my eyes. Green walls. Amelia's guest room. Snuggling down into the warm bed, I froze. Something heavy was draped over my waist, and a snuffle behind me told me I wasn't alone.

Dismayed, I peeked under the covers. I was naked as a jaybird, and a familiar arm was pinning me down.

Oh hell.

Sookie Stackhouse, I asked myself sternly, what did you do?

I had a damn good idea. Hardly breathing, I wriggled carefully out of Quinn's warm embrace, leaving the covers in place. Ignoring the clothes scattered across the floor, I pulled on my robe, tiptoed over to the dresser and eased a t-shirt, some underwear and a pair of shorts out of the drawer. Feeling gross, I grabbed my wash-bag and towel.

I stopped at the door and reached out mentally. Amelia was downstairs already, thank goodness. I slipped out, padded across to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I leaned against it and groaned softly. How was I going to get through this with any dignity?

I had no idea.

I didn't have one night stands. I didn't throw myself at men. First Blue, now this. Sure, my behaviour at Blue was down to alcohol and drugs, but this time I'd been tipsy, not drunk. I gave myself a stern lecture on moral fibre.

A half-hearted one. I'd been so... horny last night. For weeks, if I was honest. I'd blamed it on missing Sam's regular attentions, but when I'd been single in the past my libido hadn't gone into overdrive. Not like this.

Was it my age? A woman's sexuality supposedly blossomed in her thirties.

Wait.

I _had_ felt like this before. After vampire blood.

I did a quick calculation. Ignoring the time I'd been away with the fairies as it were, Eric gave me blood ten weeks ago. Hell, that was probably it.

The effects never lasted much beyond three months, so it would be gone soon. Good. I could ignore it, and Eric. It was bad enough that he spoilt my evening. I was damned if he was intruding on my morning too.

I scrubbed the sour taste of last night's tequila out of my mouth with a double dose of toothpaste. Looking in the mirror as I spat and rinsed, I cursed Amelia and her matchmaking. She'd invited Quinn in, got out a bottle of tequila, cut some limes, and disappeared faster than green grass through a goose. I should have known she was up to something; she couldn't drink and she was exhausted.

Quinn and I had talked for a while. Hours of flirting and two shots of tequila had weakened my resolve. My libido had drooled over his bare arms, his eyes, his smile, his shoulders. We'd gotten real friendly on the couch and then I'd led him upstairs. I remembered warm hands and a warm mouth in the dark, giggling and fumbling.

Lord, I hoped we'd…

Oh, thank God. We did. He'd fetched a condom from his wallet, tripping over in the unfamiliar room and sending me into a fit of giggles. He'd got back into bed, silencing me with a kiss. More fumbling, we'd had our golden moments and passed out.

It had been... Fun? Sweet? Clumsy? Ridiculous?

All of the above, but it was going to be as awkward as hell when he woke up.

…

Showered and dressed, I wavered in the hallway. Quinn or coffee? Was it cowardly to sneak downstairs hoping he'd just disappear? But Amelia was in the kitchen, and I definitely wasn't ready to face her. I opened the bedroom door gingerly.

"Quinn," I gasped. Damn. He was sitting up in bed, half awake.

"Hey, babe," he said with a yawn. "Amelia brought coffee." He waved at two steaming cups of heaven waiting by a plate of pastries.

"Oh. That was nice of her." Not. I bet she came up while the shower was running, hoping to catch me alone so she could interrogate me. I stepped inside and shut the door.

Quinn got out of bed and stretched lazily. Naked.

Hot damn.

I stomped down on my traitorous libido. Hard. He rubbed his head and mumbled hopefully, "Bathroom?"

"Oh. Across the hall. Um, here, take my towel." My robe was never going to fit.

"Thanks, babe," he said. Wrapping the towel round that gorgeous body, he kissed my cheek and gave me a sleepy smile. After he left, I fell on the coffee like a fiend from hell. I felt almost human when Quinn came back, smelling of Felix's no-tears bubble bath. I stifled a smile.

"Coffee?" I held out the cup.

"Thanks."

He drank it down and demolished three pastries, while I busied myself picking up clothes and folding them neatly. I was just thinking we'd managed to bypass the awkwardness when he spoke.

"Babe. We need to talk."

"We do?"

He blinked. "Yeah. Of course."

"What about?"

His forehead wrinkled. "Last night. Us."

"Us?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "Us."

I sat down on the bed and he scowled at the space I'd left between us. I tried to be gentle.

"Quinn, I hadn't planned on there being an us. I hadn't even planned on..." I waved at the bed.

"I thought..." He cleared his throat. "Last night meant something to me."

I sighed at the disappointment in his eyes. "It was… lovely. But I'm just getting my life back on track after Sam."

His eyes narrowed. "You still hung up on him?"

"No," I said firmly, even though that wasn't quite the truth. "It's just … We were married and I expected to stay that way. I'm still getting over losing that."

"I understand. Tijgerin …" He looked down at his feet and spoke softly. "It's hard when things don't work out the way you want." Then he looked up, reached over and took my hand, searching my face. "But we're good together, babe. Always were. I think we could make a real go of it."

He was still in my towel, distracting me with his arms and chest. And those violet eyes, so pretty. "I … I'm not sure this is the right time to start something new, Quinn."

"When is? I don't want to wait. Not if you want this too, and I think you do."

I frowned. I wasn't so sure he was right.

"You were too quick to judge me over de Castro and you know it," he accused bitterly. "If it hadn't been for Northman and his blood…" He sighed, and softened his voice. "Look, babe, I'd like to see where this could go without the damn bloodsuckers interfering. Will you give me another chance?"

"I … I need to think about it."

He wasn't happy. "I have to be back in Memphis tomorrow."

"Oh." I didn't appreciate being pressured, but I didn't want to leave him hanging either. Even if he'd inadvertently done that to me when he disappeared for months after Rhodes.

He looked at the neat pile I'd made of his suit. "I need to go back to the hotel, run a few errands."

"Okay. Why don't you do that, then come back for dinner? I'll have an answer for you then."

He nodded seriously. "Okay, let's do that. All I want is a chance."

…..

I skedaddled, taking our dishes downstairs so Quinn could cover up that sinful body of his. When I walked into the kitchen Amelia broke into a huge grin.

"Morning, Sookie. How did you _sleep_?" Faced with my grim expression, her face fell. She stayed quiet while I loaded the dishwasher. Finally she asked, "You okay?"

I shrugged. "Any more coffee?"

She tripped over herself to fix me a cup. I stared into it and made non-committal noises as she rambled nervously about places we could visit that day. Footsteps on the stairs made us both tense.

Quinn stuck his head in. "See you later, babe."

"Yep. See you later."

We both sounded subdued.

Amelia waited until the front door closed. "You were getting on so well last night. What happened?"

I gave her a sharp look. "I blame the tequila."

"Oh." She twisted her hands anxiously._ I just wanted to give her a nudge._

"A nudge?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"I … You said you wanted to have some fun," she said defensively. Then she muttered, "One of us should." _I'm such a mess. Ty was horrid last night. What am I going to do?_

That threw ice water on my righteous indignation. And frankly, I hadn't needed much encouragement to jump all over Quinn. I said sternly, "Next time no nudges, missy. I don't need your help."

"Sorry. Was it awful?"

"No. It's just …" I sighed. "Quinn wants more."

"Oh. Would that be so bad?" she asked curiously.

I leaned back against the counter. "I just got divorced. I don't think I'm ready."

"Tell him to wait."

"He wants an answer today."

"Then he's fresh out of luck. Unless... " She narrowed her eyes at me. "Would you regret turning him down?"

That echoed a question Eric asked me about Quinn years ago. I'd said then that it may have been huge mistake ending things with Quinn when we had the start of something good going. Would I be compounding that mistake if I turned him away again?

I rubbed my forehead. "I just don't know, Ames."

"Well... You were kinda good together. Think it over."

…

Amelia went out to pick up some steaks for dinner. I sat outside by the pond, sipping iced tea.

I didn't want to jump into something just because I was lacking other suitors, like I did with Sam. But there was something between Quinn and me. A warm, easy affection that promised more.

Trouble was, I didn't know if Quinn and I were as suited as he and Amelia seemed to think. Us being in the same state had been a rare occurrence, and we hadn't spent that much time together. That had meant outside forces had pulled us apart far too easy.

Would that be any different now?

Well, Frannie and Mama Quinn seemed less dependent on him. His family commitments had been the main reason I'd broken things off, but my hurt over his silence and his betrayal of the Louisiana vampires had been factors too. Quinn was right there: Eric's blood and my feelings for him had muddied the waters, dividing my loyalties during the takeover.

We should have been strong enough to survive that, but we hadn't had time to cement things. Maybe if Quinn actually took that month off…

I was tempted. I'd been tempted the last time Quinn made me an offer, at Craig Merlotte's wedding. This time I was free to accept. I had enough regrets, maybe I deserved another chance too.

I went back and forth between temptation and caution, staring at the water lilies floating on the dark pond, my thoughts clouding.

Like the murky water. Murky, dark water.

Eastorhild's words floated on the breeze: _Wet your lips. Took a sip. Never downed love's draft. Never gave him a chance._

My heart skipped a beat and I sat very still.

A chance.

Quinn asked for a chance.

Was that what Eastorhild meant – that I'd missed out on love by dismissing Quinn without a fair hearing?

Wait, since when did I make important decisions on the ramblings of a water-sodden corpse?

A corpse that wasn't a corpse, though. Eastorhild was a powerful magical being and she'd muscled into my head and poked around in all the dark corners there before making her pronouncement. What had she seen?

I shuddered, remembering the intrusion and her cold touch.

No, I wouldn't do this because of her. If I did this, I was doing it for me.

My conscience was telling me I hadn't given Quinn a fair crack of the whip. That was something else Quinn was right about, and I owed it to myself to find out what could have been.

…

I was waiting in the lounge when Amelia let Quinn in and made herself scarce. Quinn was anxious, so I put him straight out of his misery, smiling warmly. "Yes, Quinn. My answer is yes. As long as you take some time off."

Only his mouth smiled back, not his eyes. I expected more enthusiasm.

"That's great, babe. But I won't hold you to that."

"What? Why?"

He said grimly, "We've got a problem."

Already? My heart sank and I sat down, gesturing for Quinn to do the same.

He let out a long breath, and plunged straight in. "This is the first time I've been in Louisiana since the takeover."

"Eric's takeover," I mumbled, suddenly having a real good idea where this was going.

He nodded tensely. "Northman has his sheriffs keeping tabs on twoeys, like de Castro did. Belle Chasse invited me here and the Area 1 sheriff was fine with it. I assumed Northman was too."

"Okay. That's good."

"Maybe not. I asked around today. The sheriff came from New York. Been there a while. He and Northman aren't … close."

"So," I said slowly, "he might not know Eric banned you from his area. But that was years ago."

"Babe, do you really think Northman won't interfere again? After last night …" He shrugged sheepishly. "I'm sorry, babe. Seeing you again, I got carried away." _Didn't think…__ shouldn't have provoked him…_

His thoughts became a jumble of frustration. Feeling the same, I slumped in my chair. This was not the joyful reunion I'd imagined. As for provoking Eric, who I danced with was none of his damn business. He didn't own me. We hadn't been an item for years.

He wasn't my damn king. Screw him.

"I won't let Eric spoil things," I said firmly, bringing some hope back to Quinn's beautiful eyes. As if vampire drama would make me run for the hills. Stackhouse women had backbone.

"Me neither." He took my hand and smiled briefly. "There's more though. I sounded Clay and Mattias out this afternoon. Figured they'd have my back."

"What can they do against Eric?"

"I thought he'd be forced to let me visit if they insisted. He's got this new policy. Mutual respect. Deaders co-operating with twoeys." His lip curled. "That's the line he's selling, but it's horseshit. Deaders still have all the power. Mattias has thrown his lot in with them, so he won't rock the boat." _Northman has him snowed. Fucking bloodsuckers think they can buy anyone. "_Clay can't afford to lose the work the deaders are offering. His pack is dirt poor. Katrina hit them hard. He'd like to help, but he's between a rock and a hard place."

"That sucks," I said. "But I'm sure Alcide would–"

He shook his head. "Herveaux is in it up to his neck with Northman. And he didn't lift a paw last time I was banned." S_till mad over his father's death. Wanted you for himself, said as much at the time._

"I'm a friend of the pack. He has to help."

"No dice, babe. And with Ravenscroft as sheriff…"

I groaned.

Dating Quinn was going to be hard enough without Eric sticking his oar in. Petulantly, I wished Quinn had sorted this out before pleading his case with me. He'd known there might be trouble. Tyrone had warned him, but he'd forged ahead regardless.

Because he wasn't one to give up on something he wanted. In stark contrast to Eric, I thought snidely. In fact, his persistence was flattering. And I could hardly hold Quinn's tenacity against him; I was just as stubborn.

I wanted to believe that Eric wasn't petty enough to interfere, but the facts disagreed.

He'd banned Quinn before. David Thrash warned me that kings couldn't lose face, and enough vamps knew we'd been pledged. Eric still resented the way things ended, even if he had moved on. And as soon as we were alone, he'd asked if I was with Quinn.

Eric's ego. His damn pride. He'd kick Quinn out of Louisiana faster than he could drop fang.

"God dammit!" I burst out furiously. "There must be something we can do. No way is Eric calling the shots in my life."

Quinn let go of my hand and rubbed his head thoughtfully. "There is one thing, but you won't like it and I can't ask you to–"

A buzzer sounded in the kitchen. Amelia appeared, apologetic. "Um, dinner's ready."

"Thanks Ames. Can we talk while we eat, honey?"

"Sure, babe. Sounds like a plan."

...

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, we are going there.

You see why I delayed posting this chapter. I didn't want to ruin anyone's Christmas. :-o

I always liked Quinn, and I felt Sookie wasn't particularly fair to him, but I know some of you will hate this plot line - feel free to rant in the reviews if you do. I appreciated the extra effort it will take non-Quinn fans to stick with this, and I promise he won't say babe too often. We will be switching to Eric's pov soon.


	13. The Plan

**A/N:** Here's to a great 2015 for y'all !

Thanks for all the reviews &amp; support. Guest reviewers made some great points about Quinn, Amelia, Rory and even Oskar - thank you. The chicken noodle soup energy is finally working, so you get this chapter on schedule.

* * *

**The Plan**

* * *

On Monday I went back to Bon Temps with a brand new plan. One Amelia, Quinn and I had brainstormed long and hard the previous evening.

I spent the drive home making doubly, triply sure of my decision, without Quinn's pretty eyes tugging on my heart strings or Amelia's loud thoughts swaying mine. My mood lurched between nervous excitement and dread, but by the time I got home I was certain.

I wanted this all on my own.

…

Quinn had clammed up when we sat down to eat dinner, tucking into his steak and leaving me to fill Amelia in on our predicament. I got more and more enraged as I spoke, stabbing angrily at my salad.

"I won't have it, Ames. Eric has no right to interfere." My fork clattered noisily against the plate.

Amelia scowled. "What a petty jerk! I'm not surprised, though." _Not after Teresa._

"Teresa?"

Amelia resisted briefly, but gave in and dished the dirt. "Victor's replacement. The coven did some work for her. Routine stuff, mostly property wards." _A few special jobs, that spell for~_She paused to sip her lemonade.

I gestured impatiently for her to continue.

"Teresa was fair, paid well. She was a stickler for punctuality, but as long as you respected her rules she was friendly. For a vamp. I liked her." _Cleared up that mess with~_

"And?"

"Nobody's seen her since the takeover. I guess Eric didn't offer her the same deal Victor offered him." She grimaced. "Eric's more of a take-no-prisoners guy, huh?"

But he wasn't. I distinctly recalled him offering Victor's buddy Akiro the chance to surrender. "Maybe Teresa fought back?"

Amelia wrinkled her nose. "I doubt it. She seemed more manager than fighter."

"Oh." Apparently King Eric was more ruthless than Sheriff Eric. I frowned, reminded again that I didn't know Eric as well as I thought.

"It's a pity Teresa's gone." Amelia sighed. "The new sheriff won't hire us. He was really rude when we went to see him. Said he didn't trust us."

"Why? Because you worked for Teresa? That doesn't make sense. You worked for Sophie Ann and this Teresa didn't mind that," I pointed out. From what I'd seen vampires treated witches as hired help, they didn't cosy up to them. There was no reason a coven would be loyal to the previous regime, and Amelia's coven was powerful, useful.

"Yes, and I know for sure a couple of vamps who survived the takeover put in a good word for us. But as soon as he heard my name …" She pulled a face. "I think Eric blacklisted me for severing the blood bond."

"Oh hell no, that's not fair. You did that for me." I called Eric a few choice names in my head for bearing a grudge.

Amelia shrugged. "Interfering with their blood magic is a big no-no. We knew there might be repercussions. Not that I expected Eric to have much influence down here, but vamps talk. Don't worry about it."

"Eric sure isn't shy about throwing his weight around, is he?" I said sourly. Shit, he was bound to make a royal nuisance of himself over me and Quinn. Speaking of which … I turned to my new honey, irritated by his lengthy silence. "So, Quinn, what's this idea of yours to get Eric off our backs?"

He swallowed his mouthful. Staring intensely at me he said, "You won't be free while you're under his thumb, babe. He won't allow it. If you're serious about us, come to Memphis with me."

You could've heard a pin drop.

Amelia cracked first, clearing her throat and muttering about dessert, thinking: _Jesus, Quinn you couldn't work up to that gently?_

My thoughts frozen, I handed Amelia my plate. She clattered about in the kitchen while I stared at Quinn in shock. He stared back, a challenge in his eyes.

If I was serious, he said. How serious was I? What would I give up for another chance with him?

"Maybe there's a less drastic solution," Amelia suggested when she came back. She didn't really believe that, but I looked like a deer in headlights and she wanted to help.

We tossed some ideas around over dessert, but none seemed workable. Not against a king. Amelia even suggested going to Niall, but I had no idea what he thought of Quinn and after his willingness to kill Sam at the drop of a hat I didn't want him involved. He was too unpredictable, too inhuman.

Clutching at straws, I said, "I could just visit you in Memphis."

Quinn picked his words carefully. "Babe, you know how much I travel. It's not just Eric, if you stay in Bon Temps…"

I had to agree. Between Quinn's job and me studying and working, we'd hardly see each other. I'd already decided that we wouldn't last if that happened. With a heavy heart, I began to consider leaving Bon Temps.

The furthest I'd moved for a man was spending a few nights a week across the cemetery at Bill's place. That was nowhere near as daunting as moving two states away. I'd be leaving my home, my family, my friends.

In exchange I'd get a boyfriend. A damn good boyfriend, and a chance at happiness.

_If_ I could stay out of trouble without my guards.

Maybe that wasn't such a big if. The fairies were at peace. I'd be leaving the Weres from the pack war behind and perhaps the Fellowship, or rather the Chosen too. They weren't so active further north. On the other hand, vampires from all across Amun had attended the Rhodes summit.

Quinn was watching me patiently, giving me time to think. I was thankful for that, but I wasn't about to go into this blind. I needed to ask some difficult questions. Diplomatically not mentioning the protection Eric provided I asked him, "Will I be safe in Memphis?"

"I'll protect you," he said, a little too quickly.

"I know you will," I said, squeezing his hand. That was real important to Quinn, but one guy, even a weretiger, wasn't always enough. "What about when you're away?"

"She has guards in Bon Temps," Amelia put in, tactlessly.

He frowned. "The local packs will help. I've got some favours owed."

"Uh-huh." Twoey muscle was a good start. I could even afford to pay for it. But Tennessee's head vamp, a king I thought, wasn't one of the seven who'd given me protection. "What about the vamps?"

"They don't bother me. I can handle Tennessee. He stays out of twoey affairs, doesn't meddle." _Only that once. Put in a good word for me, got me that job in~_

His eyes flicked away. He was hiding something. Now, Quinn hadn't exactly been up front when we first met, but I understood that his mom's story was too painful to relate to someone he didn't know real well. That I could forgive, but he'd better come clean now or I'd call a halt to this.

There were vampires who had him by the tail, I remembered that. I said slowly, "Special Events has vamp owners. Some group in Vegas, right?"

Quinn smiled grimly. "De Castro's stooges. They're gone. There was some infighting in Nevada a while back. The ones that survived pulled out, sold their share to some European deaders. Silent backers."

He said share. "Who owns the rest?"

He shrugged dismissively. "Two Tennessee sheriffs got fingers in the pie. They're no trouble. We make 'em too much money. That's why we're based in Memphis." _Safe there. No interference. _"And," he added proudly, "once word gets around that you're my woman, my reputation will protect you."

He was confident about that. Amelia seemed to agree.

"Okay, what about…" Lord, this was delicate, but last I heard Felipe was still interested in 'securing' me so I had to ask. "The place your mom's at, in Nevada?"

He shook his head. "She's with Frannie, remember. In New Mexico. Nevada can't touch them."

Oh. And I had New Mexico's protection, so that was real handy. Good to know: Felipe had no hold over Quinn _and_ my in-laws wouldn't be breathing down my neck. I filed that nugget away.

Well, it seemed I would be reasonably safe in Memphis. As safe as anywhere, I guessed. It was just a matter of switching Pam's guards for Quinn's twoey friends, and keeping a low profile with the vamps.

Could I up sticks, leave it all behind? I had friends, good friends in Bon Temps. Family. Jason and Michele, Jay-Jay, a niece to pass Gran's recipes on to, Hunter. My home, full of memories…

That was a lot to give up.

I sure wouldn't miss the gossip, though. Or some of the folks in town. Or Bill's latest shenanigans. Apart from family and friends, I had precious little else holding me in Bon Temps. No job to quit. I could rent out the house. Missing out on college gave me pause though.

Amelia sensed my reluctance. "What's up Sook?"

I sighed. "College. I was really looking forward to it."

"Oh, wait a minute. I think–" She was already halfway out the door.

I turned to Quinn. "I'll need a job. Somewhere to live."

"You can live with me."

I bristled. "I don't think so, Quinn." He began to protest, but I raised a hand. "Look, this is all very sudden, and that's a step too far."

I was prepared to give this a shot, but putting all my eggs in one basket wasn't real sensible, however good our prospects seemed. I wasn't in one of my romance books. Real life was full of hard work and disappointments. Relationships didn't always work out.

Quinn didn't see it that way. "Babe, why not? I'm serious about this. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" Wasn't I the one contemplating turning my whole life upside down? Before I could run my mouth, Amelia bustled back in with an open laptop, oblivious to the tension.

"Let's see if you can transfer from LSU," she said, frowning at the screen. Giving Quinn a glare, I moved to sit next to her.

The community college would accept the tests I'd already taken and they ran similar courses to LSU, so that was promising. Amelia pulled up a real estate site and we found some cheap places to rent. Real modern places with nice kitchens, that had Amelia and me gushing enthusiastically. We browsed a recruitment site too. Memphis offered a lot more opportunities for employment than Bon Temps. On the minus side, there'd be more competition for vacancies. Amelia was sure painting a rosy picture though.

The idea grew on me, calling to that restlessness, that hunger for a brighter, bigger life that I'd had ever since I came back from England. I'd loved my trip overseas, and Memphis offered the excitement of a new place to explore.

I stared into space, biting my lip.

A fresh start might be just what I needed. Look what happened in Minden, with Jody and her uncle. My telepathy meant I saw more meanness than most and maybe that made me jaded, but it seemed to me that small towns had more than their fair share of small-minded folk.

Memphis might not be any better though. And I had other reservations: the traffic, the faster pace of city life. I would be well and truly out of my comfort zone. What if I hated it?

With a burst of anxiety I remembered Eric's blood was about gone. All those minds. My control was still holding, better than ever in fact, but if it slipped... Perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps the dramatic improvement in my shields was down to something else. Niall had given me that tonic. I'd been drinking Wynn's tea. And I'd accepted my telepathy, stopped fighting it. Had that–

Quinn interrupted my reverie, saying softly, "What's up, babe?"

His violet eyes, searching and uncertain, met mine. I struggled to find the words to explain.

Amelia answered for me. "It's a big change from Bon Temps. But you loved the quarter, Sookie. You'll thrive in Memphis, I just know it."_ Too much potential to be stuck in that backwater waiting tables. And I've got that charm I made for~_

There it was again. That hitch. I pounced on it, a welcome distraction from my dilemma. Time to solve that little mystery.

"Amelia," I said slowly, "your thoughts keep… hitching. Jumping. It's unnatural."

She flushed and song lyrics began repeating in her head, real loud. A surefire sign I was onto something. I sensed a swell of discomfort from Quinn.

Frowning, I turned to him. "Yours do too."

He couldn't stop himself from glancing guiltily at Amelia.

"Busted," I said softly.

Amelia's looping song stuttered to a halt. She cringed. "I thought you wouldn't be able to tell."

"A spell?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"Yes," she admitted sheepishly. "Nathaniel helped me construct it two years back. When he found out what you could do."

The Fellowship had found a way to block me in Rhodes. Pam knew a witch who could hide my guards from me. I shouldn't have been surprised that Amelia could do something similar, but I was surprised that she had. If I was honest, I was more than a little hurt that neither of them trusted me.

They'd been in touch with each other too. I hadn't known that. It hadn't occurred to me earlier, but Quinn hadn't asked about my connection to Niall. He knew I had a dab of fairy blood, but I couldn't recall telling him Niall was my great-grandfather.

I'd told Amelia though. Miss Motormouth. Yet she was the one who didn't trust me.

"Why, Ames?" I asked.

She saw the hurt in my eyes and stumbled over her words. "It's not … I didn't mean … There are things I have to keep secret. Coven business." She rambled nervously on. "The spell stops me thinking about them around you, that's all. It interrupts the thought, makes the brain switch tracks. It's quite tricky to do that safely. Mind altering spells are delicate. It took us months to refine it."

"Amelia did this on you too?" I asked Quinn.

"It's not about you, babe. My clients demand confidentiality, and Texas has a telepath. I don't trust him. Amelia offered to help."

"Oh." That made me feel better. "It works for all telepaths?"

"Not quite. I couldn't get it to work like that," Amelia said sadly. "It triggers when the subject is aware a telepath is around, and only for secrets they have to keep. Otherwise switching thoughts all the time would kinda scramble your brains."

Pam's necklaces blocked all telepaths as far as I knew, but I reckoned Amelia would be annoyed to hear another witch had beaten her to the punch. I said grudgingly, "I guess y'all have to keep your work secret. But I wish you'd told me about it."

Amelia was relieved. "Sorry. I should have. Thanks for understanding, Sook. It wasn't personal."

She got up to clear the dishes and I excused myself to use the bathroom. I needed a few minutes to think over my decision without the weight of Quinn's expectant stare.

Eric had a whole lot more power than I did. Power he wouldn't hesitate to use, as Amelia found out. Leaving would put a stop to his interference, but it still felt like a defeat. That stuck in my craw. Stubbornly, I wanted to stand my ground.

But, as Gran used to say, there was such a thing as too stubborn.

This wasn't about Eric. It was about Quinn. If Eric wasn't in the picture, if Quinn had asked me to move just to be with him, would I be hesitating?

No.

After all my soul searching in England I knew I still wanted a marriage, a partnership. Quinn was a chance at that. Whatever was missing with Sam, that spark, I knew I had that with Quinn. I wanted him, and not because I was lonely and he was the only candidate in line.

And the biggest mistake I'd made with Sam was putting barely half my heart into it. Holding back had sabotaged any hope of something more growing from our friendship.

I wouldn't repeat that. I wouldn't hold back. If I wanted Quinn, I was going all in.

Memphis it was.

When I announced my decision, Quinn finally gave me the enthusiastic response I'd expected earlier. He kissed me stupid right there in front of Amelia and I let him. What can I say? The man had skills.

Over coffee, my blush fading and my heart rate settling back to normal, Quinn raised the next hurdle. Technically, I was an asset of Louisiana. Eric's asset.

I said a few unladylike words about that. Quinn couldn't care less, but if he was seen to be poaching, spiriting me out of the state, it gave Eric ammunition to appeal to Tennessee for my return. It would be harder for Eric to do that if leaving looked like my idea.

I was fine with that. It _was_ my idea. Quinn wasn't forcing me.

I worried Tennessee might decide I should be his asset instead. Quinn assured me that was unlikely, and he'd never let it happen. I'd be his woman, and he was confident Tennessee wouldn't challenge that, him being so well-known in the twoey community and all. The only problem Quinn saw was Eric.

Amelia too – who was imagining Eric going on a bloody rampage after I left.

I couldn't see that happening. Sure, sticking it to Eric by leaving Louisiana would piss him off, but he was pragmatic. And hadn't he been the one to send me that message about making my life my own? Once I was out of his reach he would see reason, and leave me be. My only real fear was that he might make it difficult for me to visit Bon Temps.

Both Quinn and Amelia were adamant that Eric would stop me leaving if he got wind of our plans. Quinn's forceful arguments and Amelia's fears for me persuaded me I should keep it secret.

From almost everyone.

Quinn didn't want even Jason to know until I was safely away, but there was no way I could skip town on my brother and Michele without a word. I insisted they could be trusted.

There were two other people in Bon Temps I planned to tell. What Quinn didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

I reckoned it would take me a week to tie up loose ends. Quinn gave me an untraceable cell phone so I could keep in touch, as Pam had access to mine. We brainstormed a foolproof way to give my guards the slip. Once we had a workable plan Quinn left, taking the shortest route out of Eric's territory, up through Slidell and into Mississippi.

Amelia took me up to her 'playroom' before we turned in. Not the sort of playroom I'd imagined at all, it was where Amelia and Bob experimented with magic. There were ominous stains on the bare wooden floor and I was careful not to look too closely at the pale withered things in jars on the shelves. Thankfully the pretty blue and silver dragonfly brooch she fetched out of a cabinet looked perfectly ordinary. She hadn't tested it so she couldn't guarantee it worked, but it was better than nothing and she was good at what she did. Mostly.

I tried not to think of Bob, stuck as a cat for months.

When I left the next morning, Amelia hugged me tight and said, "Good luck, Sookie. And remember, Rosa said the difficult path would bring you joy._"_

"You know I don't hold with that mumbo-jumbo, Ames. I hope things work out with Bob and the baby."

"I hope so too," she said wistfully, and then brightened. "They will. Rosa said they would. She's never wrong."

That was Amelia, always convinced she was right. I was jealous of her confidence. She waved cheerfully as I drove away and I said a silent prayer of thanks for our rekindled friendship.

…

It was a strange week, back in Bon Temps.

I made sure to see Kennedy, Penny and Holly. Coffee, a couple of lunch dates in town. It was hard to act normal. Kennedy picked up something was wrong, but she put it down to frustration over losing the job in Minden. Not guilt over my big secret.

Bill turned up one night. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and the woods were too muddy for a stroll in the dark. He was polite, we chatted for a few minutes, and he left without pressing for more.

I even spoke to Melissa, who phoned out of the blue to check how I was doing. I was touched, but I certainly couldn't let her in on my plans.

Under the guise of normal errands, I returned my library books and visited the bank. Years ago, when I opened my first account Gran told me to pick a national bank, hoping I would get the chance to travel one day. That had finally paid off. Transferring my accounts to Memphis was easy as pie.

Serving Margaret and Jack lemonade on the porch, I casually mentioned I was having a clear out. That night, with the drapes closed, I began packing, hiding suitcases and boxes out of sight in closets and under beds. To complete the illusion I labelled few boxes of junk 'goodwill' and put them out on the porch the next morning.

I put off telling Jason as long as I could, until Thursday. Daytime. My twoey guards had supe hearing, but I could 'hear' them too, check they weren't listening.

Telling him and Michele was hard. I made it sound temporary, a trial move for a few months. Michele stayed quiet, watching Jason. He was dismayed. He remembered Quinn and he remembered him not being around much.

"You've only just got back. He should be the one moving here."

"His job is in Memphis. He travels all over. It wouldn't be fair, Jason."

He pulled out all the stops. "You got family here. What about Marie Adele and Jay-Jay? They need you Sook."

I'd been steeling myself for that guilt trip, but I still had to blink hard. "I'll visit, I promise." Eric better not make a liar out of me, or I'd stake him myself. "And I'll phone and write."

He crossed his arms. "Quinn got family? Bet he keeps them close."

I shook my head. "Only his mom and sister. They're in New Mexico." I didn't count Tijgerin and mentioning their son would only give Jason more ammunition.

He glowered and raised his chin belligerently. "He's got a reputation. From the pits. He's no good for you. You can't–"

Hands on my hips, I snapped back, "I'm a grown woman, Jason Stackhouse. You can't tell me what to do."

"Oh can't I? I'm the head of this family. I gotta do what Gran would do. And that–"

"Is ask if Quinn makes you happy," Michele interrupted forcefully, her hand tightening on Jason's arm.

I took a deep breath and blew it out so I could speak evenly. "Yes, Michele. He does."

She nodded. "Good. You can't live your life for our kids. You gotta chase your own happiness." Her firm tone took the wind out of Jason's sails. I dropped my hands from my hips and Jason shut his mouth. She added, "You sure about moving all that way for him?"

"Uh-huh. Things will be difficult if I stay here." They looked at each other, confused. I explained, "Now Eric is in charge of Louisiana."

Jason frowned. "You don't have anything to do with deaders no more."

"No." Except for Pam. "But Eric won't see it like that."

"He won't show his face round here. He'll be down in New Orleans."

I spelt it out. "Jason, he can make it impossible for Quinn to visit Bon Temps."

Michele looked to Jason for an explanation. Jason blinked at me for a moment. For once, he was the one who said something shrewd.

"That don't make no sense. Kings got more important things to do than stalk exes. And that Pam protected you the whole time you been with Sam. Don't seem like Northman cares who you're with to me. Unless he just don't like Quinn."

Oh. There was a thought. When I left Eric in the dust to go on my first date with Quinn, I sensed there was more to their rivalry than me. And that would explain why Quinn was so sure he'd be banned, why Eric would give a crap when he had a kingdom to run and plenty of other women to chase.

But Jason's insight changed nothing. Moving would take me out of it. I had zero desire to be a pawn in their stupid feud. I was nobody's trophy.

"Jason, regardless of what Eric does, I'm going," I said firmly. "And that's that."

Jason grumbled some more, but he could see my mind was made. Michele kept him from saying anything unforgivable and eventually he settled down enough to listen to my plan.

"Of course I'll help," he said indignantly. "You're my sister."

…

That night I called my lawyer. I hadn't discussed that with Quinn, but I wanted to sound Mr Cataliades out all same. Carefully.

He'd worked for Sophie-Ann, then de Castro, and now, I assumed, for Eric. Contacting him was risky. I was his god-daughter of sorts, but I wasn't sure Mr C could be loyal to me over Eric, who was probably paying him a significant sum to look after his interests.

Fortunately, Mr C couldn't read my mind over the phone.

I pretended I'd called for the investment advice he'd offered me during the divorce. We had a long dull discussion about money and then, as we were winding down, I casually asked my real question.

"Oh, before I forget, I'm thinking of taking a trip out of state. A girlfriend of mine has family up in St Louis and she invited me along. She hates to fly alone. Will that be a problem with the vamps up there?"

He paused long enough for me to wonder if he'd already seen through me. I'd picked a fake destination, one in Amun and about as far as Memphis, but Mr C was shrewd and Diantha had seen me with Quinn.

"Hmm," he said finally. "You have three kings and a queen in your corner in Amun. Technically their protection only holds in their kingdoms, but it should give you a modicum of safety in Missouri."

"I don't really know how that all works," I said, fishing for more.

"Generally speaking, most monarchs would be ill-advised to go against four peers in the same clan. Missouri would not wish to upset Iowa, for instance. You should be safe as long as you are not in his state over long."

"How long is too long?" Damn. I'd hinted at my true plans.

"Any longer than a few months and Missouri may expect you to work for him, become his asset. Unfortunately, after Rhodes–"

"Everybody knows my name."

"Many are aware of you, yes. Some monarchs do not care whose toes they tread on. You must be cautious." The tone of his voice told me he suspected something, but he wasn't asking, and I wasn't telling. So far, so good. Eric couldn't be mad at him if he didn't know my plans for sure.

"Oh, it's only for a week," I said, hoping to make him think I was just paying Quinn a clandestine visit. "That'll be okay, right?"

"Yes, probably," he said, sounding mollified.

Good. I pumped him for more. "I never understood the asset thing. What exactly does that entail?"

"Anything from an ad hoc informal arrangement to a full contract. Basically, the asset provides talent in exchange for protection, sometimes payment. How favourable the arrangement is depends on the asset's bargaining power."

"Uh-huh." I read him loud and clear: hold all the cards when you negotiate with vamps. "And if, hypothetically, I became a vampire's asset?"

"You would be tied to them and their state. Such an arrangement is best entered into your eyes open," he warned.

I said with some sarcasm, "You don't say."

Eric claiming me as an asset behind my back irked me no end, but I knew trampling all over my right to date and travel freely was only the thin end of the wedge. I had no wish to experience worse at the hands of vampires whose idea of 'claiming an asset' included kidnap and slavery. Thankfully, Tennessee didn't seem to be that type.

Echoing my thoughts Mr C added gravely, "Some vampires would have no qualms about your willingness to enter such an arrangement. A word of advice, my dear. Vampires are slippery. It would be prudent to involve me if this hypothetical situation becomes real."

"I'll bear that in mind if it comes up." Not likely, I had no intention of becoming anyone's asset, and I planned to stay off the undead radar in Memphis.

…

Friday was wet. I popped into Tara's Togs during a convenient downpour. Margaret and Jack couldn't hear a thing parked outside, but as it turned out Tara took my news quietly.

"Quinn, the big bald guy?" Tara wasn't really listening. She was exhausted; the twins had kept her up two nights in a row and she was worried about Sarah, who had a stomach bug and was home with JB.

"Uh-huh. We're dating again. I have a real good feeling about it." I had been in two minds about telling her, but I wanted take her into my confidence one last time in honour of our long friendship, as moving away probably spelt the end of it.

"Oh, that's nice."

That was underwhelming. "Don't tell anybody. I don't want to jinx it."

She shrugged. "Okay, Sook." _Who am I going to tell? All I do is work and go home. JB and the twins ain't interested._

At that point I remembered the deep-seated envy she felt whenever my life seemed more exciting than hers. Her secret fear that I would up and leave was about to come true and I didn't want our parting conversation to be full of anger. Chickening out, I didn't tell her the rest.

"So, you have anything for a hot date?" I asked, flicking through a rack of dresses.

"Oh, sure." She fetched some pretty summer dresses and we chatted for a while like we usually did. I bought more than I intended out of guilt, but I didn't say anything else. Michele would fill Tara and the others in once I was safely away.

Tara was the only one I'd told about Quinn. That would have to show enough loyalty for her.

That lunchtime, acting on more guilt, I cajoled Jack and Margaret in out of the rain to eat lunch with me in the kitchen. It was the least I could do; I was putting them out of work.

Jack was a sweet boy underneath his macho attempts to act the grown man, attempts hampered by the decidedly chauvinistic role-models Hotshot provided. I was going to miss them both, and the way Margaret 'mothered' him with a slap upside the head every time he said something dumb about women. But a girl had think of her own happiness.

That afternoon, in weather fit to drown frogs, I paid a visit to Merlotte's. I owed Sam a goodbye, and a part of me hoped he'd offer to deal with Eric if he turned up in Bon Temps and threw a fit after I'd gone.

I dashed across the lot with my raincoat over my head. Shaking it out by the door, I noticed the place was real quiet. Stephanie was sitting behind the bar, reading a magazine and sipping a drink. Smiling brightly, I gave her a cheerful hello.

"You here for a late lunch?" she asked.

"Um, no. I need a word with Sam."

"Of course. No-one comes here to eat," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

She gestured at a customer. "He's been nursing that beer for an hour."

"Oh." I pulled a face. "Slow day, huh?"

"Very."

"Things are picking up though?"

She shrugged. "Some. It'll take a while." She gave me a sly look. "Longer if Bernie frightens the customers off again."

I hedged. "Oh. Um. She's…" Was it disloyal to criticise Bernie now we weren't officially related?

Stephanie's carefully plucked eyebrows lifted. "A piece of work, that one. You must be tougher than you look to survive three years of her."

"I am."

Her mouth raised in a half-smile. "Any tips?"

I couldn't tell if she meant to be hostile or friendly. I met her look steadily and said drily, "You'll be fine. You've got the right pedigree."

She grinned wryly. "Maybe not for Sam."

I didn't reply. They'd been arguing last time I came to Merlotte's and I didn't want to know what was going on between them. Stephanie had other ideas.

"Bernie sure did a number on him. First time I've been accused of kissing a man because his mother put me up to it."

"Oh." An image of her and Sam in a passionate embrace popped into my head, supplied by my own imagination for once. It made me extremely uncomfortable. The amused glint in her hazel eyes told me Stephanie didn't mind my discomfort one bit.

Looking me over, she said, "Maybe that was the attraction, knowing Bernie would never approve. He was rebelling."

I shrugged. "You better hope he's over that phase, or you're plum out of luck."

She laughed, breaking the tension. "Well, if he doesn't pull his head out of his ass soon, it'll be his loss. He's in his office."

"Thanks." I'd just passed a test, I reckoned. Not that we'd be bosom buddies any time soon, even if I did meet with her approval, but at least I didn't need to watch my back for another jealous twoey bitch.

I paused outside the office to check no-one was snooping. Margaret and Jack weren't close enough to hear over the rain. Bless the bad weather. I knocked, and went in when Sam yelled.

"Sookie," he said, startled, hastily standing up.

"Hi Sam."

A few minutes later he was saying, "Quinn? For real?"

He was astonished rather than angry, which astonished me in turn. Sam did not have warm feelings towards my weretiger honey, never had. In fact the last time Quinn turned up Sam took offence at him, his scent and him breathing the same air as me.

Not all of that was fairy magic.

"Yes, Quinn," I repeated. "I wanted you to hear it from me."

"He found his way back here pretty damn quick."

"Not really. I bumped into him in New Orleans."

"And you want me to play nice if I see him round town."

"Actually … that's not real likely." There was a bonus I hadn't considered: moving would make this a lot easier on Sam. And I'd avoid any drama with the Bon Temps morality police for dating so soon after our divorce. "I'm moving to Memphis."

Sam leant back in his chair with a puzzled look. "You're leaving Louisiana?"

"Yep."

"I don't think that's a good idea, cher."

I sat up straighter and said warningly, "It's not your decision to make."

His mouth tightened in disapproval and he muttered, "Sure ain't, or you wouldn't be going anywhere with that asshole."

There was the reaction I expected. I kept a lid on my temper as best I could, but my tone was sharp. "Quinn is a good man. I'm not asking for your approval."

He said hotly, "Good, because I'm not giving it. I hope you know what the hell you're getting into. What did Pam say about this?"

What the hell? Since when did Sam think I should run anything by her? I snapped, "I don't need Pam's permission. The damn vampires don't run my life, Sam."

"Better hope the ones in Tennessee got that memo," he said darkly. "Is she sending some guards at least?"

"No! And don't you dare tell Pam about this."

Sam frowned. "Why not?"

Shit. I'd counted on Sam being only too happy to keep my secret from the vamps. Quinn would be mad as hell if I'd ruined things by spilling the beans to my ex-husband. He thought I was only telling Jason.

Clamping down on my panic, I tried to appear calm. "I'll tell Pam. When I'm ready."

Familiar blue eyes searched my face. He knew something was wrong. "What's going on, cher?"

"Nothing," I said, too quickly.

"Sure," he snorted. He ran his hand through his hair. Then, quietly, he said the one thing guaranteed to tug on my heart. "I thought we were still friends, Sook."

We eyed each other for a long minute.

I sighed heavily. "Promise me you won't say a word to Pam."

"I won't. I promise."

He meant it. I felt bad peeking, but I checked all the same. "It won't be long before she finds out anyway. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" He was stunned.

"Yep." I added, "Thanks for telling me Eric was king, by the way."

He was still processing his shock. Carelessly he asked, "How d'you miss that? Didn't Jason tell you?"

"Nope. We don't talk about that stuff."

"It was big news last spring. Died down before you got back, though." He frowned. "That got something to do with you leaving?"

"Yes. Eric will ban Quinn from Louisiana."

"What's Quinn done now?"

"Nothing! Eric will do it just to keep us apart."

I got one of those clear flashes from Sam: _Might not be such a bad idea._ All he said aloud was: "You sure 'bout that?"

"Yes," I said crossly. "Quinn said Eric would–"

He interrupted. "You haven't spoken to Eric?"

"No. He doesn't know about Quinn and me. And I want it kept that way, Sam Merlotte."

"Then how d'you know Eric will ban him?" Sam rated Quinn's theories as highly as he rated the tiger himself.

Exasperated, I threw up my hands. "It's not like Eric hasn't done it before. He's king, his word is law. He's ruling with an iron fist, just ask Amelia. And I'm one of his damn assets."

"Really?" Sam frowned pensively. "That sends a message to other kingdoms, though. Keeps you safe."

My jaw fell open. I'd fallen down the damn rabbit hole. In what parallel universe did Sam take Eric's side?

"Are you kidding me? I'm nobody's flipping asset, least of all Eric's."

Sam shrugged. "Could be worse. I know diddly-squat about Tennessee. Better the devil you know."

Well, flabber my gast.

Maybe to Sam, Eric _was_ the better devil. Better than Quinn, because Eric was the past and Quinn was my future, a future that would take me out of Sam's orbit. Boy, Sam's nose was really bent out of joint. Just what I needed: two possessive exes trying to run my life.

Quinn was my choice. They could both stick that where the sun don't shine.

"I'm not an idiot Sam. I'll have protection." I asked suspiciously, "Why the heck are you defending Eric?"

That pulled him up short. He rubbed his neck and mumbled, "He's decent enough, for a deader." _More decent than I deserved after I treated him like shit._

"Sure, Sam, real convincing. What's he got over you?"

"Nothing. He helped out with the bar, is all." He shifted uneasily, refusing to meet my eyes.

I focused on his thoughts, and an angry scene played out in his mind with a clarity I rarely got from Sam. I was stunned by what I saw, but by the time Sam looked up at me, I'd hidden my shock.

"Sookie, this isn't about Eric. It's you I'm worried about. Promise me you'll be careful." His eyes were pleading.

I sighed. "Sure, Sam. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

I stood up to leave and he hugged me real quick.

"If Quinn makes you happy..." He tried to hide his doubts about that. "I hope it works out. Take care, Sook."

"You too, Sam. Don't be too hard on Stephanie. You can't afford to lose another book-keeper, not one who actually likes you."

I left him gaping after me.

Outside, in my car, I replayed what I'd seen in Sam's head, my hands tightening on the steering wheel. The memory had been coloured with Sam's fury and it had my adrenaline pumping.

It was small comfort to discover that Sam hadn't followed me to Fangtasia the night he'd lost it after smelling Eric on me. No, he'd gone there to confront Eric, yelling and threatening him over the 'blood offence' Eric had committed _against Sam_ by saving my life.

Not against me, against Sam. Because I was his property, that 'mine' attitude I hated so much. Sam even threatened to go to de Castro. The vicious, spiteful things he said to Eric … Hell, he'd even told Eric that we'd had sex two days after he left for Oklahoma.

I was mortified. And furious.

But the man I'd just spoken to wasn't the person who'd said those things, and he felt a healthy dose of shame remembering them. It was Sam under the influence of fairy magic. It would do neither of us any good to fight about it now.

Having no outlet for my anger, I breathed deeply until I felt calm.

Like Eric. In Sam's memory, he had been infuriatingly and icily calm in the face of Sam's attempts to provoke him. I wondered, though. I wondered if Sam's hurtful words hadn't eaten away at Eric's pride, leading him to ask all those questions about Sam and me.

I shook myself. No use speculating about either of them. They were the past. Quinn was my future.

…

The next day was hot and humid. Perfect. I'd chosen Saturday to make my move because Margaret and Jack weren't on duty – I didn't want to get my friends in trouble. Early that morning I invited the two hard-bitten wolves from Longtooth onto the front porch for some iced tea, as I'd done a couple of times before when it was a hot day.

Except this time their drinks had an extra kick, thanks to Amelia.

Half an hour later they were passed out in the woods. They would wake up around sunset with no idea where I'd gone. I checked they were in the shade, and then called Jason, who'd already been over once so the wolves wouldn't cotton on to his involvement from his scent.

Looking at my car as I waited for him to show, I sighed wistfully. I couldn't take it or my phone. As Pam had so helpfully told me, I could be tracked with them.

An anonymous rental truck bounced down the drive and Jason jumped out. We wasted no time loading the vehicle with everything I'd packed. I rescinded almost everyone's invitations, locked up the house and handed Jason the keys. He hugged me for a long minute before loping off into the woods.

I got into the rental, making sure I had Amelia's dragonfly brooch pinned to my blouse. Apparently a sample of my hair was enough to locate me magically. Some witches could even use less personal items. The brooch should prevent anyone tracking me that way, so I planned to wear it for a week or two.

I looked at the house for a long moment before I set off.

I stopped once, in Monroe, to express mail a letter. That wasn't in the plan, but it was something I had to do. Quinn would just have to deal.

Then I headed north into Arkansas, feeling tense. Quinn said Red Rita was in cahoots with Eric these days. I breathed easier once I crossed Old Man River into Russell's state. I drove north again, too keyed-up to stop. About an hour from Memphis I turned off the highway into Clarksdale.

Quinn was waiting right where he said he would be, outside a barbecue place. I jumped out of the truck and into his arms. Grinning broadly, he lifted me up and spun me round.

"Babe, I can't believe you're here."

"Me neither." I couldn't stop grinning.

I handed him the keys and we crossed into Tennessee with Quinn at the wheel.

...

* * *

Don't throw anything at the wall! I don't want dead electronics on my conscience. But rant away in the reviews - I can take it ;-)

A lot of you wanted Sookie out of Bon Temps... so there's that. Bit of a surprise the way it happened though, and you know it's not going to be plain sailing.

Next chapter we get Eric's reaction.


	14. Memphis

Hi everybody. Slight change of plan. I decided the next two chapters worked better switched around.

But I promised you all Eric next.

So... Bonus! Two chapters today.

* * *

**Memphis**

* * *

Memphis was huge. As we drove through the outskirts I cycled from trepidation to excitement and back a dozen times. The pleasant, tree-lined streets of Quinn's neighbourhood soothed my nerves. We pulled into his drive and I undid my seatbelt slowly, smiling at his house.

Quinn saw my face and chuckled quietly. "You like it, babe?"

"Looks great." The house was cute: two stories of red brick, white window frames, a slate roof, and a triple garage. Large shade trees grew in the backyard.

That wasn't what had me grinning.

My biggest fear – that it would be impossible to find the mental solitude I needed from time to time – had evaporated. Quinn lived in a quiet street opposite a huge park. His house was on the corner plot. There was only one neighbour within range. It was perfect.

I guess I had his dual nature to thank for that. Twoeys liked open spaces, hence the one on Quinn's doorstep.

Inside the house was a sharp contrast to its outside. Modern. Clean lines. Uncluttered. Very… masculine. A huge entertainment centre took up a whole wall in the den. I eyed it, wondering how complicated the remote was. I could see decking through the patio doors, and a grill.

Quinn gave me the tour, my hand in his warm grip. The hardwood floors were all level, and the kitchen was lovely. I took the second of three bedrooms, right across from his. He ordered takeout and we unpack some of my boxes while we waited for it. After food, wine and some canoodling on the couch, it was time to turn in. We separated awkwardly to our own rooms.

It had been a week since I'd seen him. I got changed and then stood shyly in his doorway, in my cutest, shortest pyjama set. He rumbled in appreciation when he saw me, and demonstrated his enthusiasm not once, but twice, with a vigour that I didn't mind knowing was partly due to the imminent full moon.

His thoughts were simple. _Yes. Please. Again._ They didn't bother me. I fell asleep in his arms.

…

Sunday morning we cooked breakfast together as if we'd done it for years.

I took the hired truck back, Quinn following in the blue Civic he insisted on loaning me until I got my own car. We drove around downtown so I could get my bearings, then ate lunch at the Oak Court mall. No-one knew me, I was anonymous in the crowd. My telepathy behaved just fine, and we browsed the stores until Quinn got restless.

After living with Sam I understood. It was just bad luck that I'd arrived right before the one night he had to shift.

Quinn was apologetic about leaving me alone, but I shooed him off to Shelby Farms. He said he usually ran there or in the wild areas along the Mississippi, out past Fuller State Park – better, bigger places to roam than the city parks, where a tiger would make headlines.

I didn't mind Quinn leaving. I was as safe as houses at his place. As safe as warded houses: Quinn took precautions like most important twoeys did since the Chosen began targeting them. I wasn't going to be much company anyway. After the excitement and the journey from Bon Temps, I was wiped. I actually had a pleasant evening, alone but able to sense the neighbours whenever I wanted. After the isolation of Gran's house, that was comforting.

It gave me a real good feeling about the life I was planning to carve out in Memphis. I fell asleep easily, in my own bed so Quinn wouldn't disturb me when he came back.

He was tired but relaxed the next morning, a state I recognised as due to a release of the jittery pre-moon tension twoeys suffered. Shifter PMT as I had privately named Sam's cyclical agitation, not that I ever said that to Sam. Smiling at Quinn over my coffee, I reckoned he might appreciate the joke being more at ease with what he was.

We talked about the upcoming week. Quinn had to work, but I convinced him I didn't need a bunch of werewolves following me everywhere, figuring from what Mr C said I had a few weeks grace.

The first few days in Memphis were exciting, strange and busy.

Four boxes stayed packed in the corner of my room, reminding Quinn our living arrangements weren't permanent, no matter how much I enjoyed sharing his bed whenever I wanted. I explored the neighbourhood, found grocery stores and the library. Its size pleased me even though I couldn't join yet. I needed a place to live and a job before I could get a Tennessee driving license. Quinn shook his head when he came home to find the real estate pages spread across the kitchen counter, but he knew better than to suggest I could stay with him.

Braving the downtown traffic on Friday, I checked out the college. The advisor I spoke to was harried and far less encouraging than the lovely Carol at LSU, and there was a snag. I was right up against the deadline for fall registration. Classes started in a few weeks. Disappointed, I grabbed some brochures and promised myself I would register for the spring semester as soon as I was settled.

I called Michele when I got back to Quinn's. Jay-Jay was sick with the stomach bug going round Bon Temps. The tiredness in Michele's voice made me wish I was there to help out. I wallowed in homesickness until Quinn got back, early, with flowers. He told me to dress up because he was taking me out for dinner.

…

Quinn finished his very rare steak and wiped his mouth with a napkin, sighing happily. He'd boasted Marcie's served the best steak in Memphis on the drive over. He grinned at the matronly dark-haired woman across the restaurant, Marcie herself I gathered. She smiled back. Quinn was a regular. Figured.

"Babe, you okay?" he asked.

I'd been too quiet for Quinn's liking, I realised. "I'm just a little tired," I said to excuse it.

"Maybe you need an early night." His eyes were twinkling.

I smiled. "Maybe."

"I'd like that," he said, smiling too. "I'll be right back."

He squeezed my hand and got up, turning towards the restrooms. Marcie looked me over curiously once he was gone. I smiled tightly at her and turned my attention to the last mouthful of my lobster. It was delicious. Marcie's was a nice place. With its deep red walls and subdued lighting, the intimate atmosphere was perfect for a date.

It was ridiculous to feel put out because Quinn hadn't warned me it was a twoey place.

Well, not exclusively. There were human customers but still… Marcie and most of the wait staff were twoeys. I should have been prepared, but I was used to Sam, who was about as interested in supe stuff as I was.

I winced. I should really stop comparing Quinn to my ex-husband. That was a guaranteed way to ruin things.

"A penny for your thoughts, fair maid," said a male voice, startling me out of my thoughts.

I looked up into clear blue eyes and a very handsome face. A pale face. Vampire.

I glanced around. No-one was paying attention. Marcie was clearing a table and avoiding my eyes.

"Tiger got your tongue?" the vampire said, glancing towards the restrooms. The corner of his mouth twitched, tickled by his own joke. He pulled a chair over from a nearby table, set it backwards and sat gracefully astride it, resting his arms loosely on the back. We regarded each other silently.

He was a tall cool drink of water, poured into jeans and a plain t-shirt under an open leather jacket. He had black hair, fashionable stubble and piercing eyes under fine arched eyebrows. Dangerously handsome, and I could tell he knew it. His swagger reminded me of another arrogant vampire.*

I wished I'd ordered the garlic bread.

He tilted his head, running his gaze over me. "All this fuss. I'm not seeing it."

I eyed his jacket. "Me either."

"Feisty. I like that."

Great. Just what I needed, another vampire chasing my tail. Better kill that notion dead in its tracks.

"I don't date dead men." Not any more.

He raised his eyebrows, a devastating half-smirk curling his mouth. "That's not what I heard, petal."

He knew me. Shit. Who sent him? What did he want?

Behind him, Quinn emerged from the back corridor and I started to relax. But then he spotted the vampire at our table. His eyebrows rose in shock, and his face darkened briefly, but he put on an unconcerned expression and walked unhurriedly over.

I tuned in to him. His nonchalance was hiding real concern.

_Babe,_ he sent. _That's Tennessee. Let me deal with him._

The king? Double shit. I kept my expression as calm as I could. So much for staying off the radar. I hadn't even been in Memphis a week.

Quinn nodded to the vampire as he sat down, stretching his legs out. "Tennessee. I didn't know you were in town. Do you need something?"

"I came to meet the lass here." There was a faint trace of an accent. Not the same Pam's, but definitely English.

Quinn asked flatly, "Why?"

"I had a visitor. Northman says you've been pilfering his silver."

I fumed silently. Eric sure hadn't wasted any time chasing after his damn _asset_. Guess I was wrong about him being practical and seeing sense. Guess he'd changed his mind about me living my own life too.

"Not his silver in the first place," Quinn rumbled. "And she came to me."

"That _is_ interesting. Of her own accord? " He turned those blue, blue eyes onto me. "Care to confirm that?"

"With pleasure," I said drily.

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes cold and searching. "There is no vampire blood in you."

I blinked. He could tell? That was a new ability on me, and extremely rude.

Quinn growled quietly. "She's a free woman. My woman."

I shot him a look that said we'd be speaking about that pronoun later, but I let it slide for now.

Tennessee shrugged. "I had to check Northman had no blood claim."

"You have your rules." Quinn nodded at the room, alerting me to the fact several twoeys were watching our conversation with interest. "We have ours."

Tennessee nodded. "And so we get along peacefully. For the most part." He turned to me. Studying my reaction closely he added, "Vampires are possessive creatures. Especially when they have been… intimately tied to someone. Northman was insistent. He wants you back."

"He can whistle," I said. Firmly. I could be just as insistent as Eric.

He turned to Quinn, cutting me out of the conversation. "He may try to take her."

"He can try," Quinn said with a glint in his eyes.

"Northman has a whole state behind him," Tennessee warned. He paused and I had a hunch I wasn't going to like what was coming. "If you need my assistance, we could come to… an arrangement."

Before Quinn could reply, I butted in, asking sharply, "What sort of arrangement?"

The vampire stared unwaveringly into my eyes. "You have a rare talent, lass. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. We all get along. That's how I run things in my state."

Oh hell.

"Now if you'll excuse me…" He got up smoothly and walked off, leaving his chair where it was and me swallowing my anger.

Across the table, Quinn was a roiling mess of bitter disappointment and anger himself. Before either of us could say anything, Marcie appeared and tucked Tennessee's chair back under the next table as if nothing had happened.

"I thought you didn't like deaders." Quinn snarled at her, his voice low and accusatory.

Marcie turned round to face him. "He asked for a few minutes to speak to you. Didn't see the harm. You work for deaders, don't you?"

Quinn glared. "I work for Special Events, not Tennessee. You tell him we were going to be here?"

Marcie shook her head. "He already knew. Called right after you arrived." She glanced around the room as if to point out anyone could have told him.

I was about to poke around in some heads when Quinn swore under his breath, pulled out his wallet and announced, "We're leaving, babe."

Marcie stopped him. "Dinner's on me. Least I can do." Her tone was regretful. Quinn was a customer she didn't want to lose.

…

The drive home was tense. Quinn didn't say I told you so. Not aloud.

He didn't need to. Dammit, I'd been so certain Eric would be reasonable, so sure I'd gotten away scot-free. Well, Quinn and Amelia were absolutely right. Eric would never have left us alone if I'd stayed in Louisiana.

Quinn muttered that we were fools to think Eric wouldn't come after me, that he should have got me guards.

My conscience pricked. I'd taken advantage of Quinn's easy post-moon mood to convince him I didn't need any. Not that one more prick added much to the bed of nails my conscience had been lying on since we left Marcie's.

It was my fault Eric had found out so soon.

That letter, the one I'd sent from Monroe. To Pam, explaining my abrupt disappearance, begging her not to tell Eric where I was.

She was my friend. I trusted her.

She had betrayed me.

I was furious with her, with myself. I should have listened to Quinn, never told her. Her loyalty was to her maker every damn time. I'd been naive to think otherwise.

I was still stewing when we got to Quinn's.

Grim and determined, I checked the street with my extra sense, but nobody was around who shouldn't be. Once we were safely inside, Quinn growled that he'd get me as many guards as it took, that we wouldn't need Tennessee's help. I nodded dumbly, too angry over the mistake I'd made to answer.

He made some calls, calls that had him pacing the kitchen like … Well, like a tiger caged in too small a space. Feeling awful, I made myself scarce, going up to my room to change. Distracted by the rumble of Quinn's indistinct voice, I got as far as sitting on the bed and taking off my heels.

What a mess.

I saw right through Tennessee's weasel words. An 'arrangement', my ass. More like me becoming his asset. I thought briefly of calling Mr C, but Eric probably had him working on getting me returned to Louisiana. I didn't want to put the half-demon in an impossible position.

I'd bought enough trouble to Quinn's door.

I wished to God that I hadn't. I wanted to stake Eric. I bet Tennessee hadn't even known I was here until he stuck his oar in. Too unsettled to sit still, too upset to stick to a task, I flitted around the room straightening the bed, picking up my book only to put it down again, staring blankly at the doorway.

Until Quinn filled it, jacket discarded, shirt open at the neck, eyes blazing.

He strode towards me and I met him halfway. His lips crashed against mine and I kissed him back with all the pent up frustration and anger I was feeling. Without breaking our lip-lock, he backed me across the room, pulling my hair out of the twist I'd put it in hours earlier. Hairpins scattered around us, my yelp swallowed by his hungry mouth.

My back pressed against something hard and he pulled back to growl, "He can't have you."

His large hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the dresser. As he pushed my dress up to my hips, I undid his shirt. The last few buttons went flying in my haste to pull it open when his hands landed on the girls, kneading them urgently. My hands went to his belt and his fisted in my hair, tugging my head roughly to the side as our mouths met again. A few seconds later he tugged my panties aside, and pushed into me. It was fast and rough, and if it was fuelled by our mutual spite for another man, I didn't care. It was no less satisfying for that.

…

I woke up sore from Quinn's attentions. He stirred besides me, muttering in his sleep. I slipped out of bed and grabbed my robe, a woman on a mission. Half an hour later I woke him up.

"Hi there, sleepyhead," I said softly.

He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Mmm. Something smells good."

"I figured you'd be hungry." I moved a little so he could see the tray I'd brought up. It was the least I could do after all the trouble I was causing him. "How does sausage, biscuits and gravy grab you?"

"Just perfect," he said, kissing me on the cheek. His stomach growled and I laughed.

"You better eat before that thing gets out."

And eat he did, every last bit of it while I sipped my coffee, pleased beyond measure that he was enjoying my cooking. Once he finished, I looked at the clock. I'd arranged to visit some apartments in an hour.

"We'd better get a wriggle on if we're going to make the realtor's on time."

"About that, babe," he began cautiously.

A minute later my blissful mood was gone, and we were engaged in a heated… discussion. Quinn wanted me to stay with him until the threat from Eric had receded. I disagreed.

Frustrated, he snapped, "It would make it a hell of a lot easier to keep you safe." _Why won't she see sense?_

Worry creased his forehead, and his fear washed over me. I relented bad-temperedly. "Fine. But it's only temporary."

Sulking, I stomped downstairs to call the realtor and cancel, pissed all over again at Eric and the vampire bullshit that dogged me even here. Quinn wasn't in my room when I went back upstairs, and his door was shut. Grumbling to myself, I hopped in the shower to wash away my surly mood. Alone.

Afterwards, I found Quinn watching some mindless sitcom in the den. Leaning over the couch, I kissed his head softly.

"Hey. Sorry about that."

He tipped his head back to look at me. "Me too. We good?"

"Yeah." I leaned over further and kissed his lips. His hand went to my neck.

When I pulled back, a movement caught the corner of my eye. Outside, through the patio doors. I looked up sharply, extending more than sight in that direction.

Behind the garage a darker shadow flowed within the shade from the trees. A shadow with a snarly mind. I got to the patio doors in time to catch a glimpse of it breaking cover, crossing a patch of sunlight to slink off Quinn's property towards the road.

Black, sleek, powerful. A long tail.

Quinn came up behind me, peering over my shoulder. "You see something, Sook?"

"Those packs you called last night, did they send a …" I wasn't entirely sure what I'd just seen. "A big black cat?"

"Stay here," he ordered and shouldered past me. He padded out into the yard, scenting the air. He was back in a second, closing the doors behind him, grim-faced.

"Trouble?" I asked.

He nodded. Seeing my face fall, he patted my shoulder and said gruffly, "Nothing to do with you. This one's mine."

He strode out of the room. I followed, catching up to him on the front steps. A metallic blue limo with tinted windows wallowed up the driveway, old-fashioned and heavy, but gleaming in the sun. A heavyset man with copper-coloured skin and thick dark hair touched with grey at the temples got out of the back.

He was wearing shades, a pale linen suit paired with a pink shirt, and alligator shoes. He looked like he'd stepped out of an eighties gangster movie. He was Hispanic, I thought, and a twoey, which I knew for sure. His mind was focused, business-like.

Quinn folded his arms, his irritation poorly hidden. The man stopped in front of us and smiled at him. He spoke with a strong accent. "Buenos dias, Quinn. Mees Stackhouse."

"Corazón de las Montañas*," Quinn said stiffly, taking my hand. _Babe, this is Frannie's father-in-law. He's a… packmaster. A jaguar._

I squeezed his hand to let him know I'd heard and smiled at our visitor. "Won't you come in?"

He followed us inside, pocketing his shades. His eyes were a strange colour, rich amber with hints of red. Quinn led us into the front room, which was the least used in the house. The guy was family of sorts, but Quinn didn't want him in his private space. Our guest declined my offer of refreshments so I perched nervously next to Quinn, feeling the tension rolling off him.

Quinn got straight to the point. "Camargo. Why are you here? Is Frannie–"

"Ah, si, si, Frannie and your mama are well." Quinn relaxed immediately. "That is not why I come. I bring a message from El Viento de la Noche*."

Quinn frowned. "What does New Mexico want with me?"

New Mexico? The vampire?

"Ees an unlucky thing. Thees woman," he gestured at me, "El Viento ees interested in her."

We both stiffened. Wonderful. Another bloodsucking monarch after me.

"No, no." He raised his hands. "Not like that. She ees valuable, yes? Useful. Tennessee wants her. He has approached you already, si?"

We looked at each other. I nodded cautiously. I couldn't get a good read on our guest.

"El Viento does not want this. You must prevent it, tiger."

What the hell? Why did New Mexico care if Tennessee got his fangs into me?

Quinn picked up on the important word I missed. "Must?" he asked, his jaw clenching.

"Si. For Frannie's sake. For your mama."

Quinn's eyes flashed. "Are you threatening them?"

Camargo didn't flinch. "El Viento is fickle and bloodthirsty. If he does not get what he wants …" He spread his hands and shrugged.

I gasped. Frannie was this man's daughter-in-law, and he was just gonna shrug? I was used to vampires going straight for the throat to get what they wanted, but twoeys looked after their own.

Quinn scowled. "When Timas married Frannie he swore to me he'd look after her."

"We serve El Viento. Timas knows this. He cannot go against him."

Quinn shook his head, disgusted. "You never approved of her, did you?"

Camargo shrugged. "Timas is my fifth son. He will never lead. His mother begged me to let him have his choice of wife."

"Wait a minute," I said, finally catching up. "This El Viento, New Mexico. He gave me his protection."

He looked at me sadly. "Si. He gave to you. But not to Frannie or Mama Quinn."

Well damn.

Quinn reached over and squeezed my hand. _Don't worry, babe. He's only asking me to do what I was going to do anyway._

That was something at least, but I hated that his family were being threatened because of me. I glared at our visitor.

Quinn stood, pulling me to my feet. "You've delivered your message, Camargo."

"Okay," he said, standing up and replacing his shades. "Adiós, tiger."

After he'd gone, Quinn slumped on the couch, rubbing his head. "Fuck. What the hell was that? And how did you get New Mexico's protection?"

"I have no idea," I said honestly, sitting next to him. "So… that's Frannie's father-in-law?"

"Yeah. Damn jaguars. Pack's been with New Mexico for generations. They think he's some god, their god." He shook his head. "Knew they were trouble, but Frannie wouldn't listen. Timas, he's got money, seemed to treat her okay, I thought…" He sighed. "I thought he'd protect her."

"I'm sorry your family got dragged into this."

Quinn pulled a face. "Not your fault, babe. Goddamn deaders. I wish I knew what New Mexico wanted."

I shrugged. "Who knows. I've never even met him. You ever work for him?"

"No. I only cover as far west as Texas."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to recall what Eric told me about the clans. "New Mexico is in Narayana, right?"

Quinn looked impressed. "No, Zeus. He's married to Arizona though, and she's in Narayana."

"Like Nevada."

Quinn sat up and said slowly, "Last winter…"

"A job?" I asked, thinking it was secret squirrel stuff he couldn't share.

He shook his head. "No. I wasn't there. Something went down in Dallas." _Rumours the Pythoness was there. Texas kept it real quiet. _"Some big vamp meeting. A trial, maybe."

"Don't they have those at summits?"

"Usually. Must have been urgent. Tennessee disappeared suddenly. Vamps from all over Zeus and Amun too." His mind thrummed with caution. "Afterwards new deaders took over in Alabama and… in Oklahoma."

Freyda had been ended, which meant… That was why Quinn was hesitant. "Eric was there," I said wearily.

"Probably," Quinn said, watching me closely. "If he was after Oklahoma, a deader from Texas got it. Isabel Beaumont."

"Oh." I remembered Isabel, and the cruel punishment Stan gave her and Hugo. I wondered if Isabel would be as pitiless a ruler as her former king.

"Nevada was supposed to be there, but he didn't make it. He was attacked. Lost an arm." Quinn didn't look at all sorry. Neither was I.

"How'd that happen?" I asked.

"I heard it was New Mexico, over some dispute his wife had with Felipe."

"So New Mexico doesn't like Felipe." That didn't explain what he had against Tennessee, unless … I frowned. "Is Tennessee real friendly with Felipe?"

"I don't think so. He spoke to Felipe for me once."_ Only time I wanted anything to do with that caped fucker after what he did. Got the job too, despite the bad blood with~_

Felipe holding Quinn's family hostage was still a sore point, so I didn't press for details. "Could Tennessee be trying to get hold of me for Felipe?"

"No, babe. Felipe can't touch you here. Northman is our only worry. Tennessee will back off, I'm sure of it. He's always been reasonable in the past."

I nodded, wishing he was as certain as he sounded.

I reckoned Tennessee was a very real worry, and I highly doubted he would take no for an answer now he knew I was here. I'd been a fool not to listen to Sam's warning, but just for once I wanted to believe I had some sort of say over my own life. And damn it, I was an American. I should be free to live in whatever state I wanted.

Sighing unhappily, I rested my head on Quinn's shoulder. He put his arm around me and we sat taking comfort from each other for a while.

…

That afternoon Quinn introduced Shawn and Mack, big beefy werewolves who would be keeping an eye on me for a few weeks. I insisted on paying them, and they were real pleased with that. The next day, Sunday, was hot and humid. Lazing with Quinn – in bed, on the couch, in the yard – I managed to put our vampire troubles to the back of my mind.

In the evening storm clouds bubbled on the horizon and dry lightening crackled in the distance. As Memphis held its breath, waiting for rain to douse the heat, Quinn's phone chirped out the ringtone he'd set for Mack.

Whatever the text said, it sent Quinn prowling round the house, checking doors and windows. After an anxious ten minutes, he called back. I held my breath, my heart racing when Quinn didn't even speak into his cell.

"No answer," he said grimly. "I should take a look."

"I'm coming with you," I said firmly. Before he could argue I pounded up the stairs and grabbed my handgun from my room. The sight of Pam's gift shut Quinn's protests down. I just hoped we didn't run into any cops. I wasn't waiting for a permit.

Quinn fetched a torch from the kitchen for me. Slipping the gun into the back of my jeans, I hefted the torch in my hand. It would make a decent club. The gun, cold against my back, wasn't that reassuring. I knew I wasn't fast enough to draw it if a vampire blurred out of the dark.

I kept the torch off, figuring it would give away our position, and used my most potent weapon: my telepathy. I scanned as far around us as I could, while Quinn prowled the edge of his property, scenting for a trail.

Fat lazy rain drops hit the sidewalk as we crossed the main road into the park. After fraught and adrenaline-filled trek across open ground lit by lightening flashes that made us sitting ducks, we fetched up at a stand of trees. Quinn stopped dead, motioning for me to scan the thick patch of undergrowth ahead. I stretched my senses to the limit. No-one, supe or human, in range.

I signalled all clear. Quinn moved his head from side to side, inhaling. Lightening lit up his face, not quite human and nostrils flaring.

"Blood," he growled. Rain pattered faster on the leaves, the downpour starting in earnest.

We found bodies, still warm, in a clearing under the trees. Mack's head lolled horribly in the torchlight, his neck snapped. The other wolf was face down, head caved in a way that made me gag. A rock the size of my fist glistened blackly next to him. It wasn't Shawn. Quinn confirmed that by taking a good sniff of the corpse, his eyes glowing like a cat's in the dark. My stomach roiled.

Quinn searched the area. He crouched down about ten feet away from the bodies, peering at something crumpled on the ground. Clothes.

"Vampire," he whispered, lifting up a bloodied branch. Whoever it was had been staked.

"That branch…" I turned slowly, sweeping the torch over the dripping bushes. "I don't see where it came from."

"Mack wasn't stupid," Quinn said, eyes glinting as his head turned. "Why would he follow a deader here, where he could be ambushed?"

Something else was bugging me. Shivering, I moved closer to Quinn and whispered, "If Mack or his friend staked the vamp, who killed them?"

The back of my neck prickled. Wiping wet hair off my face, I peered up into the dark trees.

"I don't smell anyone else, but the rain..." He growled uneasily. "Let's get you back to the house."

He went out again when the packmaster arrived with reinforcements. By the time he came back, wet and dishevelled, I was dozing on the couch.

"What happened?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. He smelt of damp fur.

"Damn vampires," he grumbled, lifting me up and carrying me to bed.

The packmaster, Linden, had notified the vamps. Tennessee split his time between Memphis and Nashville so there was a sheriff for each, but one of his personal entourage, a gal called Clarabel, turned up. Linden assumed the worst: that Tennessee was covering up for one of his own.

Tempers were short, accusations were thrown. Quinn barely managed to stop a fight. He didn't tell me the rest, but as we were in bed, his arms around me, I saw it anyway.

Clarabel had let slip that Eric was after me. Quinn hadn't exactly told Linden that when he'd called in his favour and asked for some muscle. Once Clarabel left, Linden exploded, yelling at Quinn that it was his fault he had to break the news to Mack's widow and find the money to support his kids, adding cruelly that he sure hoped the pussy was worth it.

I swallowed hard. Mack had kids. Pushing a wave of guilt aside, I asked, "What happened to Shawn?"

"He got sick. The other wolf stepped in. A newcomer, not been around long."

"Doesn't that seem weird to you?" Quinn agreed. "Did you find where that branch came from?"

"Didn't have a chance." He sighed. "Between the bickering and a cop car showing up, we had to get the bodies moved."

After Quinn fell asleep, I lay in the dark trying to put the pieces together, trying not to see that bloody rock and Mack's staring eyes.

…

In the morning, I wanted to call Linden, offer to help Mack's family, do something, but Quinn said to wait. Moping around the house, I wondered if I'd done the right thing coming to Memphis. Homesick to my stomach, I itched to call Michele, or Kennedy, but instead I called Amelia. I could be totally honest with her.

She was out.

Quinn was furious when he came home. We'd been summoned.

We drove past the country club, along a road of mansions behind high walls. With owners rich enough to pay for privacy _and _the security guards to enforce it, I reckoned. Tennessee and his rock-star act would fit right in. A set of gates opened for us and we pulled up by a fountain. A silent vamp showed us to a waiting room.

Quinn had worn a suit. I refused to waste a dress on Tennessee but wore a smart pant suit instead, reluctantly giving him more respect than he deserved.

He wasn't my king.

He wasn't going to be my king.

Over my dead body.

After a wait that reinforced our place at the bottom of the food chain, we were allowed into his smart modern office. Tennessee was lounging, feet up on the desk, like another high-handed vampire I knew. The other vamp in the room was a hard-faced skinny blonde with a vicious smile. Clarabel, Tennessee's chief investigator, matching Quinn's mental image of her to a T. She was sitting on the only comfortable couch.

"Sit," Tennessee said waving at two hard chairs in front of his desk.

We sat.

"I've had my fill of snarling wolves tonight," he said sharply. "Trouble follows swiftly in your wake, lass. You've disrupted my pleasant little kingdom very quickly."

Quinn shifted restlessly, but let me speak for myself, sticking to the agreement I'd forced out of him before we left.

"With all due respect," I began, meaning the nada, zilch and zip I owed him, "it was a vampire that killed those Weres. Not me."

"A vampire, yes, but not one of mine," he drawled. "One of Louisiana's, I believe."

I shrugged. "They sure weren't working for me. I don't want anything to do with y'all."

He leaned further back in his chair, regarding me through narrowed eyes. "We can't always get what we want, Miss Stackhouse. Northman will not be thwarted easily. You need my help."

"I don't think so." He could kiss my tanned ass. I didn't trust him as far as I could spit. I was watching him closely, determined not to miss anything, however slight.

"Your protector," he gestured indolently at Quinn, "isn't up to scratch. Last night was only a scout, one lone vampire slipping into my kingdom to test the waters. Northman will not remain so subtle."

Two dead Weres didn't strike me as subtle at all. I let Quinn field this one, as Tennessee was impugning his abilities.

"Neither will I," Quinn said decisively. "If he persists I'll take it to the Caucus."

"The Caucus? That _circus_ is neither fish nor fowl. They have no teeth to bite Northman with, and you know it, tiger. And she is not two-natured. They won't help you." He pulled his feet off the desk and sat up abruptly. He was pissed, his words clipped. "I weary of this. Miss Stackhouse, Sophie Ann and de Castro treated you poorly. I was prepared to wait for you to realise I am different, but I see you are as stubborn as I've been told and will not be swayed. It is time to show our cards. No more subtlety."

His jaw tensed minutely after his last word, as if he'd given something away.

He had.

It was funny how one poorly chosen word could do that. Tennessee had been walking softly, carrying a big stick. Being subtle.

He called last night subtle.

My gut said that 'scout' wasn't working for Eric at all. Shawn's sudden substitution, the wolves stupidly following the vampire… I still couldn't quite solve the puzzle, but I sensed the encounter wasn't supposed to end in mutual annihilation. Tennessee had a _subtler_ plan, one that had blown up in his face. Losing that scout, _his_ scout had annoyed him no end.

All that passed through my mind faster than greased lightning while he was talking. He finished with: "My offer is generous. You would be wise to accept it."

"No," Quinn said firmly. "She's not working for you."

"Really?" His eyes glittered. "You're not in a position to protest, tiger."

Quinn, fists clenching, snapped, "You can't threaten me."

"Oh, but I can. That house you live in, the cars you drive, how will you ever pay for them without your precious job?"

"I'm too valuable to fire. You don't own me or Special Events." _Can't make a deal. Frannie. Mama._

"I don't have to own it. Just control those who do." He raised one sardonic eyebrow, staring Quinn down.

The penny dropped and a growl tore out of Quinn's throat. His face rippled, cheekbones shifting. Clarabel got to her feet slowly, and I grabbed Quinn's arm, digging my nails in hard.

_Backers under his thumb… I'm screwed… No way out._

His thoughts were spiralling, becoming less human.

"Quinn," I snapped urgently, my heart pounding."Not here."

He stared at me for a second, eyes animal, blank of all rational thought. He shook his head, regained control.

Tennessee smirked. "My, my. She has you well trained."

I glared at the jackass.

"Here," he said, picking up a folder and tossing it towards me. "You're the one with a cool head, look that over. Come back in two nights ready to negotiate. Listen to her, Quinn." His face hardened. "And not a word to anyone about the extent of my influence at Special Events."

…

Tennessee's offer seemed generous on the surface: good pay and conditions, health insurance, yada, yada. But we both knew it was a slippery slope. And with New Mexico's threat hanging over Frannie and Quinn's mom I couldn't accept.

But if I refused Quinn lost his job, or worse.

Quinn was damned either way. It was tearing him apart, and I couldn't bear that he was in that position because of me.

We talked for hours, desperate to find a way out of the steel trap closing on us. At times we snapped and snarled at each other like stray dogs fighting over scraps. Then, my heart sinking, I feared circumstances would drive us apart again.

Sick of talking in circles I suggested wearily, "Maybe I should go back home."

"You promised to stick at this," he said in a hurt tone. "You can't bail on me every time things get difficult. Fuck, Sookie, that's what you did last time."

"Oh yeah? Maybe if you hadn't left me hanging for months–"

"I couldn't get a message out!" he snapped. "I risked Frannie's life, sending her to warn you."

"Too little, too late, buddy."

"It would have got them killed!" Quinn bellowed.

Suddenly furious I was on my feet, and so was he. "All I wanted was a damn call!" I yelled back.

"It was too dangerous. You would've done the same to protect Jason!" He added bitterly, "Hell, maybe even Northman."

"How can you say that!"

"Because you liked being under his influence too much," he said hoarsely. "You never fought it."

With that he stormed out of the kitchen. Once I calmed down, I realised his words hurt because they were true. I would have done the same for Jason.

And I had bailed on him.

He wasn't the first person to call me on that. Eric commented once that I had a habit of running when things got tough. At the time I hadn't had enough relationship experience to deny it, but maybe that hit closer to the bone than I wanted to admit.

A little voice whispered Rory's words about love and sacrifice, letting go and giving up, in my ear. I told it to take a running jump.

I wasn't giving up this time. There had to be a way.

I took Quinn a coffee, rapping cautiously on his door. He threw it open, blurting out his apologies as I did the same. The conversation was calmer after that. We'd aired the past, said things that needed saying.

We tried to find a solution, we really did. I didn't have the heart to offer to sneak back home again, not after the betrayal in Quinn's eyes the first time, but it was the only thing I could think of that would get Quinn's family out of danger. We even discussed running, the destinations wilder each time we circled back to the idea. New Mexico, to depend on another untrustworthy vampire king's mercy. The East coast. The West coast. Canada.

Exhausted and no nearer a solution, I slipped into a fitful doze, slumped on Quinn's bed. The sun woke me. Leaving Quinn snoring, I slipped downstairs, scowling bleary-eyed at the folder on the kitchen counter. Once I had a coffee in my hand, I flicked through the damn thing half-heartedly. Sighing, I dropped my hand, letting the folder shut.

If this was the rocky path Rosa saw, only a damn mountain goat could climb it.

I wandered the ground floor, looking at Quinn's things. He shouldn't have to give up his home, his job, his life here for me. I didn't want to run.

Maybe we could stay if Quinn drummed up enough twoey support to keep Tennessee at bay… How many more broken necks and widows would that cost my conscience?

Too many. What else could I do?

Go back to Louisiana and face Eric. Running back home with my tail between my legs wasn't real appealing, but deep down I wondered if Sam hadn't been right, if Eric wasn't the better devil, because the prospect didn't terrify me half as much as being Tennessee's asset did.

Going home would break Quinn's heart, and I'd loose my chance with him for good. But Quinn would be free, free to meet someone with less baggage.

If Tennessee didn't take it too badly. Shit, I hadn't factored that in. I'd be leaving Quinn to face the music.

So that left, what? Find some way to protect Quinn's family – how, I had no idea – then negotiate with Tennessee, hoping he'd be a fair employer, so Quinn could keep his job.

I really didn't want that. I was running out of options. It was time to admit I couldn't handle this, call Mr C and beg him to–

A soft knock startled me and I whirled round, sloshing coffee onto the floor. A face peered through the glass panel in the back door.

Niall.

We stared at each other for a moment.

I crossed the kitchen and drew back the bolt. Figuring our relationship was about as intimate as Quinn and Camargo's, I slipped out and pulled the door closed, blocking him from the house.

He was taken aback.

"Quinn's asleep," I muttered as an excuse. "What do you want, Niall?"

He ignored my rudeness and laid a gentle hand on my cheek. Turning my face upwards, he took in my puffy eyes and said softly, "I felt your distress last night. What ails you, child?"

We sat on the decking and I spilt the whole woeful tale. When I finished he gave me his handkerchief and looked around the yard while I dabbed my eyes and wiped my nose, sniffing quietly.

"There's not enough sun for you," he said disapprovingly.

The trees cast long early-morning shadows over the whole garden. I wasn't sure if he was commenting on that, or my life choices, so I stayed silent.

Turning to me, he asked gently, "You are determined to be with the tiger?"

I nodded.

"Even if it means working for Tennessee?"

I sighed. "I guess. If that's what it takes."

He frowned. "You are too used to vampires. I should not have asked Northman to protect you. Even he has become a thorn in your side.

I grimaced. "Yeah. Him storming over and demanding me back like a piece of lost luggage sure didn't help."

"He has to think of his kingdom. He has a reputation for ruthlessness to uphold."

Yeah, I got it. Eric had his reasons to come after me: his throne, his reputation, his pride. "All he did was make Tennessee want his own telepath."

"Don't worry, child," he said kindly, placing a warm hand on my knee and leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. "I can help, if you wish it."

Blinking, I tried to resist the warm fairy glow he'd given me. "How?"

He smiled, his face painfully beautiful despite its fine lines. "I can place you under my protection."

"Oh. Would that…? I mean…" I bit my lip, not sure how to ask without offending him.

"You want to know if Tennessee will fear my wrath now I am a humble envoy, yes?"

I nodded and he sat ramrod straight, a proud expression on his face.

"Oh, he will. I told you I took the post partly for you."

"You did." I figured I was a very small part of his decision. Dillon wanting his powerful father out of his hair was probably a larger part of it.

"Envoy allows me a certain… flexibility that prince did not. As prince, for example, I could not pursue a personal vendetta against a vampire king. Not without starting a war." This time his smile was predatory.

"Oh. Wouldn't that still be a no-no for an envoy?"

"The council might replace me, perhaps. _After_ the vampire was finally dead," he said with relish. "But it will not come to that. Under the latest treaty, the undead agreed to respect the sanctity of our envoys. Their personage, their staff. _Anyone_ under their protection."

"Oh. So, with your protection…"

"Tennessee would have to leave you be."

"What about…?"

"The fae?" His eyes darkened with regret. "We are at peace. You will be safe this time."

…

Quinn was huffy, grumbling until I told him I'd been contemplating going home or making a deal with Tennessee just to free him of the catch-22 situation we were in. Grudgingly, he admitted he had no other way out.

I was backed – or rather Quinn and I were backed – into a corner.

I accepted Niall's offer. He owed me for my scars and his absences. I told myself this evened the score. I had conditions though. No fairies moving in, or interfering in my life.

Niall, I discovered, had a flair for the dramatic. He had me arrange for Tennessee to meet us at Marcie's. If Tennessee was surprised to hear from me a night early, he didn't comment. Quinn and I were waiting at a table when he and his sidekick Clarabel arrived.

"Miss Stackhouse, Quinn," Tennessee said, taking a seat and eyeing the folder in front of me. "You are ready to talk terms?"

"Yes. But," I gestured to the empty fifth chair, "I'd like to invite a friend."

"A lawyer?"

"Someone with more experience negotiating than I have."

He considered for a moment. "Very well."

Vampires don't shock easily, or rather they hide it well. To see the smarmy, arrogant jackass actually gape like a goldfish when Niall strolled over and sat down was something wonderful to behold.

"Envoy," Tennessee said stiffly once he'd recovered. "To what do I owe the _pleasure_?"

Pleasure sounded like nails on a chalk board as he said it.

Niall smiled. "I heard of Miss Stackhouse's predicament. I came to her aid."

"In what capacity?"

"I am offering her my protection. Officially."

A scowl slipped across Tennessee's face like a ripple on a pond. "I see," he said. 'Negotiations' weren't going his way. He asked me, blue eyes blazing, "You accept his protection willingly?"

For a fraction of a second I hesitated, then I said firmly, "Yes."

After a short exchange, angry on Tennessee's part and triumphant on Niall's, the vampires left the table, retreating before Tennessee lost his temper.

Quinn and I grinned wildly at each other. Niall had to get back to his pesky duties, but I hugged him tightly before he left, sincerely thankful even if I couldn't voice it. Quinn ordered champagne and we celebrated.

Later, the wording of Tennessee's question intrigued me. The last person who'd asked if I was _willing_ was Eastorhild. Willingness seemed to have some significance in supernatural interactions. Especially ones that came at a price I realised in a flash of insight, swallowing down my immediate worry.

Last time I accepted Niall's help I asked if it would cost me and he simply replied that I was kin. This time I hadn't asked, assuming nothing had changed.

I sure hoped that wouldn't come back to bite me in the ass.

…

* * *

**Footnotes:**

1\. I based Tennessee on Richard Armitage, playing Guy of Guisborne. A villain, but oh so pretty.

2\. Literally, 'Heart of the Mountains'. From the translation of Tepeyollotli, an Aztec jaguar god also associated with earthquakes.

3\. Night Wind. An alternative name for the Aztec god Tezcatlipoca, the name New Mexico uses.


	15. Impasse

And now, let's find out what Eric's been up to.

* * *

**Impasse**

* * *

After the meeting at Sanctum I rested at Oskar's for the day, flying back to Baton Rouge the following night.

My focus sharpened with every mile I put between me and Sookie, plans and strategies coming easily in the quiet of the sky. I shouldered the yoke of my kingdom eagerly, relishing the demands on my time that kept me from dwelling on her.

Still, a strange anticipation dogged my nights that week, as if I expected a third cruel coincidence to throw Sookie into my path at any moment. When the axe fell, it was Pam, not Sookie, who appeared unexpectedly.

…

My official residence was out in the suburbs. I wanted a modicum of privacy, something I wouldn't get in downtown Baton Rouge. Or New Orleans – I'd foisted that poisoned chalice on Oskar, who didn't mind being in the thick of it, on display to the tourists.

He was used to crowds after New York, but I preferred a more peaceful existence. I had chosen a modest plantation-style property for my residence, with plenty of land and verandas on all three floors.

And a roof terrace. Very handy.

Not an excessive display of wealth like Freyda's 'palace'. I didn't need ballrooms or a large entourage. Small was beautiful.

Far easier to spot a traitor among a dozen than fifty.

To that end I streamlined my retinue, expecting each member to work hard enough for two. No fat, only lean. No waste, no idiots, no ass-kissers. Just competent, efficient staff.

Only a few stayed on site at any time. Typically three or four vampires, usually those on guard duty, took their day-rest in the house. My second had a permanent room, but didn't always use it. He never arrived long after sunset, so whatever bolt-holes he had were close.

A few breathers were allotted permanent quarters, but not in the main house. There were outbuildings: a gatehouse, two small cottages, the dojo I had added, and guest rooms over the garage block. An eight foot wall enclosed the grounds. Not much of a barrier for supes, but it stopped casual observers. The set up was akin to Russell's mansion; shapeshifters guarded the perimeter during the day.

The main house was of solid brick construction with sturdy shutters. I had those augmented with discreet steel barriers. The first floor was easily split into two areas, one for breathing visitors and staff, the other reserved for vampire business. The second floor contained my office suite, various other offices, and a few guest rooms. The third was light-tight, housing secure day-rooms and my official bedchamber.

Not that I rested there. With some cunning adaptation, I had well-hidden quarters in the centre of the ground floor, accessed from above, through my office. Small but functional quarters.

Eventually I would find a separate, safer resting place, but for now staying at my official residence was a necessary show of confidence.

The week was busy. Meetings, requests for funds, overseeing my staff, settling disputes. The usual nightly grind, nothing noteworthy. I walked out of my office shortly after sunset on Sunday. Geraldine, my day woman or 'day PA' as she preferred, was waiting at her desk to finalise my diary for the upcoming week.

"Sleep well, Mr Northman?"

"Like the dead," I quipped and she rolled her eyes. "How bad is it?"

"Tuesday is hectic, we'll have to rearrange. Oh, you've been invited to a gala next month."

She handed me an envelope, already opened, holding a thick, glossy invitation. Black tie, plush hotel, all the local bigwigs. The mayor would be there – a man devoted to efficient governance but wary of vampires. Observing what legions of the undead brought to New Orleans, he thought the economic benefits came at too high a price for his city. I needed to charm him.

"I should go," I said, resigned to a night of boredom.

Geraldine pursed her lips at my tone. "I guess these things are passé after a few centuries."

I raised an eyebrow at that. She didn't usually comment.

She glanced up from adding it to the diary, pausing her typing when she saw my face. "Sorry. Jealousy talking. I haven't been to a show since Jim died."

"Is that a complaint about your workload, Mrs Hamilton?"

Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She said briskly, "No, certainly not. I thrive on busy."

Lucky for me that she did. She was efficient, unflappable, professional. A rare find in a human.

She also hadn't taken a single night off since I employed her, despite being allowed one every week. Her in-tray was full but neat, like the pile of letters awaiting my signature. I eyed her carefully for signs of stress. Seeing none, I offered, "Things will slow down. You'll have time for shows soon enough."

She finished typing and grimaced. "The problem isn't time. It's company."

I shrugged. "Go alone. Less distracting chatter, I find."

She looked off into the distance for a moment, thoughtful. "Hm. I might just do that. Now, about Tuesday…"

As Geraldine made suggestions about my schedule, I felt a faint tug from Pam. Later, in my office, I checked my blood, sensing a vague determination from her. I thought nothing of it, beyond wondering idly if Thalia was causing trouble again. Muting our connection, I concentrate on paperwork and making some calls.

My second arrived promptly at midnight. In a suit, with his long hair tied back, Takahashi Kikugoro* looked every inch the inoffensive Japanese salary man, down to the paleness of his skin. It wasn't office work that had kept him from the sun for the last four and a half centuries.

He bowed deeply. "Kitajin-sama."*

I nodded, returning his formal greeting."Takahashi."

His adherence to this small ritual gave me a reason to trust him, as much as I trusted any vampire who wasn't Pam. It was a sign he held onto enough _bushido_ from his samurai days that he would not break his oath of fealty to me lightly. Takahashi was an obvious choice for second: calm, rational and lethal. I had a healthy respect for his martial arts skills and his keen strategic mind.

He had relocated from San Francisco to take part in the takeover because he owed me.

Two centuries ago I stumbled across a bloody ambush in the Californian desert. I was too late to save his maker, Raisa, who was an ally, but I avenged her so thoroughly that Takahashi had knelt on the gore-soaked sand and sworn to serve me when I had need of him as loyally as he had served her.

That he was willing to make good on that after so long was another sign his fealty was worth something.

I never did ask Raisa how he came to be Portugal when she turned him. A few Japanese slaves, mostly female, had been brought to Lisbon by ship in the mid-sixteenth century, but only defeat or disgrace would have made a warrior of his class leave Japan.

I wasn't about to offend Kikugoro by asking about his human life.

We went over some quotes for surveillance equipment, then slipped into informality as we rehashed our ongoing disagreement over my security. He argued visible guards served a dual purpose: a deterrent for Felipe and his ilk, and a display of status. I disagreed, giving two fangs for appearances. Freedom of movement and an unpredictable schedule were far safer in my experience.

My connection to Pam tugged at me again, but I ignored it to drive home my point. "Guards cannot be trusted, Goro. All it takes is one to get greedy, take a bribe, and I will be ambushed."

"Then you slaughter them or fly away while the guards fight. Eric, a king should look like a king."

"No, Goro. I'm not convinced that–"

A strong pulse of anger from Pam halted me.

Too strong.

Pam was closer than she should be. In the building close. Tensing, Goro turned to face the door I was staring a hole in. Two seconds later it was thrown open.

"Your majesty," Pam drawled, "a moment of your time, if you wouldn't mind." She was furious, but outwardly calm.

Goro relaxed fractionally.

"Pamela," I said. Goro blinked at my gruff tone and looked to me for instruction. I dismissed him with a gesture.

"Kitajin-sama." He bowed and withdrew. I caught sight of Thalia outside as he closed the door. Area 5's resident pit-bull was never far from strife.

I levelled a look at Pam. "Speak."

She pulled a crumpled envelope from her jacket and wordlessly dropped it on my desk. It was addressed to Pam, and I recognised the handwriting.

Sookie's.

"Explain," I said, not moving to pick it up.

She hissed in annoyance. "Read the damn letter, Eric."

I stared her down for a moment and then shrugged. How bad could it be?

That was a stupid question. This was Sookie, it was always worse than I expected. After I skimmed it twice I put the letter down carefully, ruthlessly suppressing my traitorous feelings.

"And?" I said coldly.

Pam scowled at me.

"Your plan?" I prompted.

"My plan?" she spat. "Oh, I _had_ a plan to keep her safe. It was working too. She was starting to trust me again. That's gone to hell in a coffin thanks to you." She gestured angrily at the letter. "What the fuck did you say to her at Sanctum?"

I was on my feet, snapping, "Pamela. Drop the attitude."

"Did you threaten her? Tell her she was your fucking _asset_?" she continued insolently, spoiling for a fight. "Is that what sent her running to the tiger?"

I was over the desk and pinning her against the far wall in an instant. She bared her fangs, her eyes glittering and her rage barrelled down our connection. My fangs snapped down in response.

I hissed in her face and tossed her aside, struggling to contain my own fury, rising to match hers. She lunged at me, desperate for release. I let her land one blow before I grappled her to the floor roughly.

"Enough!" I hissed into her ear, infusing it with a hint of command.

Her struggling slowed and when she finally stilled, I loosened my grip. She was seriously pissed. She hadn't pushed me to a physical fight since…

The last time was over Sookie, too.

"Your temper needs work," I said curtly, putting the desk between us and slamming our tie closed, shutting her anger out. It was fuelling my need to hit something. She was lucky I had enough control for both of us.

She brushed herself down and straightened her blouse, giving us both another moment to rein it in.

I gestured at the seat Goro had just vacated. "Feel better?"

She sat. "No."

"Tell me what happened."

"I rose yesterday to a text, sent from Sookie's phone that morning. It said to wait for a letter. She was long gone. The phone was still at her house. Her car too. The Weres were clueless. No sign of a struggle, no way to track her. Even Heidi couldn't find a trail."

I had picked up her agitation the previous night, but when we spoke around three Pam was calm. She neglected to mention Sookie was missing. She was getting better at hiding things from me, as it should be. She was past living in my shadow. It was one of the reasons I left her in Area 5 rather than having her here, at my side.

"You anticipated a ransom demand," I deduced, saying nothing about her keeping it from me.

"Yes. Instead that sorry excuse for a good-bye arrived tonight." Her eyes flashed.

She blamed me.

I ignored that and concentrated on fact-gathering. "What happened to the Weres?"

A flicker of a smile played across her mouth. "They'll live, despite an ass-reaming from Thalia. Sookie sedated them."

"Of course she did." That was just like her. Inventive. I glanced down at Sookie's brief explanation. It would be sensible, prudent even, to take this chance to wash my hands of her for good.

Pam drawled, "I particularly like the part where she fears you will prevent her from visiting Bon Temps. I can't imagine what you said that made her think you'd ban her from her home."

I didn't appreciate Pam needling me. "I didn't call her an asset." I said tersely, adding pointedly, "That reeks of Quinn."

"You think?" Pam lifted a graceful and sarcastic eyebrow. "That's not enough to make her run for the state line. She's not stupid."

No, she wasn't. But we had fought, and I had played the arrogant, manipulative asshole. Did she think I would claim her for Louisiana? I tried to remember exactly what I said to her accusations of power-grabbing ambition.

I had not exactly denied them. And that unfortunate parting shot… Shit. Maybe she thought I intended to pursue her again, as persistently as I had in the past.

And she assumed I would ban Quinn to remove a rival.

I sneered at that. That was no way to win. Even when I wasn't deliberately misleading her, Sookie mistook me completely.

"So?" Pam asked. "What now?"

I shrugged.

"She's not safe," she pointed out. "Quinn can't protect her. Tennessee knows what she can do. We should warn her."

We?

I snorted. "She won't listen to me. Anything I say will be dismissed as sour grapes," which would be uncomfortably close to the truth, "and she will think I've sent you to, how did you put it last time? Ah, yes. Ask her to have _mercy_ on me."

That still rankled.

"We have to do _something_," she insisted, expecting me to cave. "I have a bad feeling about this."

I stalled. "She has the protection of seven states."

"Like that will stop Bardulf the Butcher," Pam sneered. "That devious bastard will have her locked in a room reading every human he comes in contact with."

She had a point. Tennessee wasn't exactly known for his progressive ideas, although he had toned it down in recent years.

I could picture Sookie's fate all too clearly.

Damn the woman and her reckless impulses. She knew what Felipe had planned for her, yet she'd followed Quinn blithely into Tennessee's kingdom. Surely she didn't believe that, as her letter said, Quinn could protect her? I had barely managed to protect her from Felipe.

I tried to convince myself that she would have turned to Brigant for help, but I knew in my bones she wouldn't consider calling on him if she thought Quinn was enough. She never demanded what she was owed, as if it was better not to ask at all than to ask and risk refusal. Those biting words after her torture…

"Who knows what else Bardulf will do to her," Pam added grimly, twisting the knife.

Fuck. I clenched my fists, frustrated and hating every scenario I was imagining. Why couldn't she pick a safe state? She had half a dozen to choose from if she was so eager to leave mine.

That I was inadvertently to blame for her fleeing her beloved home stung almost as much as imagining Tennessee taking her freedom. Or worse, as Pam had so expertly reminded me.

"All right," I growled, picking up the phone. Now to discover if the crown Sookie scorned so much was any use to her.

…

A night later, I was sitting in a bland office building in north-western Mississippi.

Russell had offered to put us up in Jackson when I sought permission to enter his state. We arrived there with dawn at our heels and spent the day. He gave us an escort to Olive Branch tonight, despite or perhaps because of my refusal to explain what was going on.

I didn't want Russell or anyone else involved. I wanted to judge Tennessee's reactions first-hand. Besides, this was personal.

Olive Branch was on the edge of the Memphis sprawl, but still technically in Russell's territory. The appropriately named town was where Russell usually met his royal neighbour.

I suspected Russell had the town renamed to amuse himself. He had a strange sense of humour.

I went over my strategy again as I waited. It was paper-thin. I had no business pressuring another king so soon after taking Louisiana. Worse, Tennessee had been in place for quarter of a century and his state was more populous than mine. True, he didn't have New Orleans, but he didn't need it. Nashville and Memphis held their own.

I had slim chance of coming out of this without egg on my face. That Bardulf was already half an hour late did not bode well. I waited impassively for another five minutes.

I regretted my suit when he finally arrived. He was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket.

According to Oskar, Hugh Bardulf was around eight centuries old, hailing from England's green and pleasant land. He was a bastard son of one of the unruly barons that caused John Lackland so much trouble, if his mixed French and Saxon name was any indication.

Turned in his early twenties and muscled from an active life, he was almost as tall as me, with narrow, fine features. Black hair curled around the nape of his neck and with his three-day beard he wouldn't look out of place in a Memphis recording studio.

He sprawled in the chair opposite mine. The two vampires he'd brought to match Pam and Thalia stood behind him like bookends. One of them eyed Thalia warily, but Hugh ignored her and Pam completely.

Fixing me with piercing blue eyes, he raised a dark eyebrow. "What brings you this far north, Louisiana?"

Now to bullshit through my fangs. "A small matter. One of your associates–"

The eyebrow remained up. "Associates?"

"A shapeshifter."

The eyebrow twitched in amusement. "The scum are _associates_ now? How times change. I heard you favour a closer _union _with them, but I hardly credited it. Happily, my rule is established, and I don't need to hook-up with animals." He inspected his fingernails and added insolently, "You know what they say. Lie with dogs, pick up fleas."

A dig at my expense. I moved against de Castro on a moonless night when Teresa's wolves were at their weakest, but I still felt it wise to use two-natured dayguards and trackers. Longtooth had been well paid for their assistance.

I shrugged off the insult."You never hunted with dogs, Bardulf?"

"On occasion. Only for sport."

Meaning it was unsporting to gain a throne with furry assistance. Those who gave a fuck for sportsmanship died. I would rather survive.

I leaned back and said, "I am after bigger game tonight. Tiger to be precise."

"Quinn." He straightened slowly. "You harbour a grudge over Sophie-Ann. That was Nevada's doing," he said, his lip curling. No love for de Castro, I wondered, or just an act? "You've had your pound of flesh from Felipe."

"I have." I grinned viciously.

"You have no need for revenge on the tiger, then."

"Not for Nevada's aggression, no." Thalia disagreed, shifting minutely behind me and his eyes flicked to her. "The tiger was in New Orleans recently. He has appropriated an asset of mine."

"An asset?" he said cautiously.

Fuck. He was ignorant of Sookie's presence in his kingdom, or he would be gloating. I had rushed into this assuming I had no time to waste, that he would know by now.

"A telepath," I admitted casually, stifling my annoyance.

He stilled, but I knew his mind was already racing, plotting. "The one from Rhodes?" he asked, just as off-hand.

I nodded.

"My, my. In my kingdom. Lucky me. And you have claimed her officially?"

There was the sticking point. If I had, I would have a better chance of this working.

"She has worked for me in the past."

"I see." He chuckled grimly. "It will cost you a pretty penny to get her back, if that's what you've come for."

"Not exactly." That would be simpler, costly but simpler. Nothing was ever simple with Sookie. "She is Louisiana born and raised. That, by tradition, makes her my asset. You should honour that."

"Really. You expect me not to avail myself of her talents when she's here, ripe for the plucking."

"Yes," I said firmly. For all his professed distaste for shapeshifters, Bardulf seemed reluctant to see Quinn harmed. I could use that. "It is within my rights to ask for the tiger's head. I will forgo that if she remains free."

He smelt a rat. His accent coarsened, betraying his origins, as he countered with: "Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"Annexing her would alienate the tiger."

A sly look crossed his face. "Oh, I think not. The tiger's arse is mine."

I hid my surprise. "He will fight you on this, whatever hold you have on him. He is protective of those close to him."

"Ah yes, the weakness Nevada exploited so well." He grinned, showing fang. "You know, I really should thank Felipe. His misfortune has been my gain."

"How so?" I asked, not looking forward to his answer. That grin was too smug.

"Didn't you hear? His little cabal sold their interest in Special Events."

Implying he had gained control of the company. Fuck. If so, he had Quinn's balls in a vice. The tiger would be forced to roll over, give Sookie up. I reverted to my original plan, such as it was.

Shrugging, I said, "It is not worth making an enemy of me over something so trivial. And do not discount Texas, Indiana and Mississippi. She has their protection."

"Yes, I remember." He cocked his head. "Why is that again?"

"She saved many at Rhodes."

"Yes. I remember Sophie-Ann's trial. The telepath was impressive." He narrowed his eyes. "Which makes me wonder why you aren't demanding her return."

"I have other assets," I said icily. "But I may have need of her in the future. You will not claim her as yours."

"And what's in that for me?"

I feigned a look of discomfort. It wasn't difficult. "That is what I am here to negotiate."

That annoying eyebrow lifted again. Self-satisfied bastard knew I was on the back foot.

"You would pay through the nose – and it will be through the nose, I assure you – for an asset you cannot use? Don't take me for a fool, Northman. There is more to this."

He sat back, inspecting his nails again as he continued thoughtfully. "One king offering a human protection is unusual. To have so many is extraordinary. Unless …" He broke into a broad, cocky grin that had me itching to hit him. "Who are her protectors again?"

He ticked them lazily off on his fingers. "Indiana… Texas… Mississippi… Your allies, the ones who freed you from Oklahoma and helped you plunder Louisiana from Nevada. New Mexico… who attacked Nevada at a very _convenient_ time for you. _Iowa." _He rolled the name with relish. "She was extraordinarily sympathetic to your cause when she judged the case against Alabama."

Shit. Influencing a judge was a serious matter. I stiffened and his eyes glittered maliciously. He thought he had leverage. He wasn't finished though. I kept quiet, furiously searching for a way to use his conspiracy theory against him.

"Kentucky. Hmm, what did he owe your telepath? That wily bastard had protection of his own at Rhodes. He doesn't fit. A red herring. So, five rulers who gave you succour. What did they ask in return? Access to the telepath, methinks. And she's escaped your grip. Tut, tut. You will be in trouble."

Fuck. The last thing I wanted was him thinking he could hold Sookie over me. Too close to the truth. "I made no such deal."

He smiled maliciously. "I hear Indiana had use of your pet healer. Your allies have access to your assets. Don't deny that was the price of your throne. And you're not one to enjoy sharing. You don't want to pass the telepath around. That's why you're not demanding her return."

I clenched my jaw in frustration. This was spiralling away from me. Coming here was a mistake. If I'd given away the real motives behind my actions, all bets were off.

I would have to go to war for her.

He was already hatching a plan to use her against me, I could see it in the steely glitter in his eyes. I waited in stony silence for him to reveal his next move.

He said slowly, "I might be persuaded to keep her safe for you. If we can come to a… mutually beneficial arrangement. Indiana is the ringleader of your little gang, the one to fear. I have a way to de-fang him, keep you safe from his wrath."

He sat back, pleased with himself. Asshole.

"How?" I asked curtly.

"A legitimate reason for the telepath to be in my kingdom. One Bartlett cannot challenge. An alliance between us. Of about, oh, let's say a hundred years." His gaze loitered in all the wrong places as he looked me over.

"A marriage alliance." By some miracle I kept my tone even.

"Yes." His eyes blazed. "You won't have to rely on Indiana and his allies with me at your back."

I spent a few minutes contemplating all the ways I wanted to kill him. It made it seem like I was actually giving his proposal some thought. It wouldn't do to insult him any more than I was about to.

"No." I said firmly. "We are done here." I stood and swept towards the door, Pam and Thalia falling in behind me.

"Northman," he called lazily. I paused on the threshold, not turning round. "You were careless, letting the tiger steal her. Do not think to snatch her back. I guard _my assets _jealously."

…..

"Where to?" Pam asked when we were ten minutes out of Olive Branch.

"Russell's," I snapped. He had a private line to Bartlett. I needed to beg a favour, something I was not going to enjoy.

The rest of the drive was silent. I was seething, smarting from Tennessee's taunts and the easy way he bested me. Pam was tense, anxious and regretful. Thalia was stoic.

A familiar face greeted us in Russell's foyer, completing my night from hell.

"Your majesty," he purred warmly, bowing his head of curls. "How lovely to see you."

"Bernard. It's been a while."

He licked his lips and smiled. "Too long. Will you be gracing us with your presence for the day?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I need to speak to Russell."

"Pity. Follow me."

He put a wiggle in his walk as he swept up the staircase ahead of me. Pam chuckled quietly and I glared at her. She shrugged and settled on a couch beside Thalia to wait.

Russell was put out that I still wouldn't tell him what was going on, not until I spoke to Bartlett. He took me to a side room off his office, muttering in French. It held a comfortable couch and smelt of … Ah. I was invading a private part of their marriage.

Oh well. It couldn't be helped.

Russell set up the video-call and sat on the couch with me, burning with too much curiosity to leave. Bartlett's image appeared on the screen.

"Eric."

"Bartlett. I need your assistance."

He leaned forwards. "A problem?"

I nodded sharply. "I need that leash tugging."

Bartlett blinked and Russell shifted in his chair. They hadn't expected that.

"I will have to call in a favour. Might I know why?" Bartlett asked.

Politeness meant he was just this side of pissed. I was way past that. I half-growled, "Tennessee has the tiger in a choke-hold. I need to break it."

Bartlett's face stilled. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Russell, who cursed and said, "The European investors. You were right, my love."

It seemed they kept a close eye on Russell's neighbour to the north. And had anticipated him taking control of Special Events.

Shit. I'd been short-sighted, focused on what that meant for Sookie. It had wider implications. Tennessee would have access to every supe event in the South. And if he had Sookie… Fuck. He wanted her as a spy. No wonder he was so aggressive. She'd fallen into his lap at exactly the right moment.

"He is about to acquire a telepath too," I admitted grimly.

Bartlett's eyes widened. "Your telepath. She is the tiger's again," he guessed astutely. How many spies did he have in New Orleans?

"Yes. She followed him to Memphis. Willingly."

He scowled and his voice deepened. "And you rushed to threaten Bardulf in person. You should have come to me first, Eric. This might have been salvageable."

I didn't appreciate his tone. I gritted out, "What's done is done."

"I am not your enemy Eric," he said sharply. "You would do well to remember that."

He drummed his fingers on his desk, a habit that signalled he was deep in thought. After a moment, he swore softly. "I have nothing on Tennessee I can use, nothing sufficient to keep him from a telepath. We have no choice. You or someone else must take her from Bardulf."

"No," I snapped instinctively. I added more calmly, "He will be ready for that."

"Because your actions alerted him," Bartlett reprimanded harshly. "He must not have her. It will make him too powerful."

"I agree. But taking her by force is not the way." That could only end badly for her. And it didn't escape me that she'd never forgive me for it. Bartlett and I stared each other down.

Russell broke in. "Eric, how did Hugh react when you asked for her?"

The worry in his voice drew my attention. Tennessee was on his border. He was the most threatened by this. Damn it. Russell needed the truth I didn't want to share – exactly how badly my meeting with Bardulf had gone.

They would find out anyway, I realised. Bardulf would deliberately let something slip, try to drive a wedge between us, break our alliance. Better come clean.

I said quietly, "I did not ask for her. I asked him to leave her alone."

Russell blinked. "Why would you do that?"

Bartlett gave him an exasperated look, as if my motives were perfectly clear. Addressing me, he said sternly, "You showed your hand too soon. That was a mistake."

"Yes," I admitted stiffly.

"What did Hugh say?" Russell asked curiously.

"He speculated that I had agreed to loan her out to you and Stan in return for your help, hence the protection decrees. He assumed I was trying to renege on the deal by leaving her in Memphis. And he thinks he has me by the balls with Iowa."

"The trial," Bartlett said succinctly.

"Yes. He was confident enough to propose a marriage alliance." I managed to disguise my disgust.

Too well. Russell hissed in annoyance. "Don't get tangled up with him, Eric."

"Excuse me?" I was hardly likely to accept, I wasn't a fool.

"Our alliance is a threat to Bardulf," Bartlett said, shooting Russell a look I couldn't decipher. "He likely knows… Russell will explain. I don't have time. Bardulf was playing you, fishing for something to use against us. Now, Eric, how do you intend to clean up your mess?"

"I might have a way to keep her from Bardulf." One I was reluctant to use, but as Bartlett hadn't offered an alternative it was my only option.

Bartlett nodded after a second. He'd guessed who I would ask, if not exactly why they'd agree. "And from me?"

"A willing telepath is more use than a hostile one. Bardulf will move slowly, pressure the tiger first, encourage Sookie to work for him that way. If you could call in that favour, make sure Quinn resists, it will buy me time to arrange things."

"Consider it done."

The screen went blank.

I turned to my host. "What does Bardulf know?"

Russell pouted. "Merde, I get all the shitty jobs." He sighed. "If you remember, Hugh met your late wife at Rhodes, for a prisoner exchange."

I tensed. Freyda. I'd forgotten that connection between them. And Russell was calling him Hugh, with noticeable familiarity.

"You know Bardulf. Well."

"Biblically. You're not the only one to receive a proposal from him. But that was twenty years ago and frankly I didn't think he'd last this long." He pulled a face and gestured dismissively. "Back to my delightful task. I do so love breaking bad news. Bartlett believes Freyda discovered your maker's whereabouts around the time of the summit. He suspects Hugh passed the information to her. Hugh was friendly with Nadia."

Another piece of Nadia's fucking web. That smug asshole had been part of it, acted as her messenger boy. I growled quietly.

"Precisely." Russell added cautiously, "It's not clear how deep his association with Nadia went, but he might be aware of your… attachment to the delectable Miss Stackhouse."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Rumour says you have moved on to the delightful Rory, though. Hugh will believe that, I think." He gave me a mischievous look. "If you gave nothing of your true feelings away tonight."

I growled again, wishing I could honestly deny those feelings still existed.

He shook his head. "So proud, so loyal, so steadfast in your affections." His face softened, and he gestured at the blank screen. "That's why he likes you. Birds of a feather."

…

Pam was eager for news. As soon as we were on our way, she fixed on me in the rear view mirror. "Well? What did Russell say?"

"Many things."

She hissed. "Eric. Can he help her?"

"No. Bartlett can ensure the tiger holds out against Tennessee, for a while at least. But that is all."

"Fuck a zombie." Her hands tensed on the steering wheel. After a moment she said, "I still think we should get a message to her. Warn her."

I shook my head. "She will find out Tennessee is after her soon enough. She is not in immediate danger. He will want her intact and co-operative."

She snorted. "And when he finds out she doesn't do co-operative?"

Best not to think about that. I shrugged.

She saw right through my nonchalance of course, her eyes tightening with anxiety. She asked quietly, "What are you going to do?"

"Make a call."

Thalia finally took an interest, snapping out of downtime and turning to look at me from the front seat. "Brigant."

I nodded.

She scowled. Her eyes were black in the dim light. "Involve him and you may never get her back."

I gave another shrug, probably no more convincing than the last. "She is not coming back. She has made her choice."

Her scowl deepened. "You would allow her that. Even with the tiger you despise."

"I owe her." For Rhodes, for Hallow, for too much. I ignored that if it was anyone else I would pay those debts another way, caring nothing for her choices.

Thalia said mockingly, "You are going soft. First the healer, now the prince. Do you trust all fae now?"

"Hardly. Niall cares for Sookie. He will keep her safe." He better.

I pulled out my phone and dialled only to get his voice mail. "Niall. Northman. We need to speak. It concerns your great-granddaughter. Call me as soon as you have a moment."

…

He didn't return my call until later that day, leaving a terse message with a time and place. The following night at midnight, a suite in a Shreveport hotel. A neutral location.

I was standing by the window looking down on the city lights when Niall arrived.

"Finally," Pam snapped from the kitchen area, putting her Trublood down noisily on the counter. Like Tennessee, Niall was late, disrespectfully so.

I blurred to the chair Thalia was standing behind and sat, startling Niall's companion, a male armed with a silver sword. Using vampire speed around a fae envoy was a breach of protocol, but I was royally pissed.

Twice in two fucking nights. Kings weren't supposed to be kept waiting. Apparently no-one got that memo.

"Envoy," I said curtly.

"Louisiana," he said as he took his seat. His shadow stood by his side, keeping his hand near his weapon and one eye on Thalia. It had been decades since she went on a spree, but nobody who knew her reputation relaxed around her.

I eyed Niall's shadow. "Problems?"

"A small disagreement with Connecticut."

"Ah." She had a legendary capacity for grudges. "That is why you are late?"

"There is only one envoy. My time is in demand."

My heart bled for him. Like an unbeating stone, so not a drop. "Not enough staff to delegate to?"

"My time is short, Northman, let's not waste it." His eyes flashed with annoyance. Touchy tonight. "I had hoped Sookie would be safe here. What danger have you brought to her door this time?"

He didn't know. I might get an iota of amusement out of this. "She is no longer in my state."

He sat up, glaring at me. "Your guards failed her again? Who took her?"

I raised an eyebrow. "She left of her own accord."

He was stumped. I was right; she hadn't asked him for help.

After a few beats of silence he asked reluctantly, "Where is she?"

I took a second to savour his embarrassment at admitting he didn't have a clue where she was. No doubt he could find her quickly enough by some fairy means, but he obviously hadn't tried to find her since I called him.

I put him out of his misery. "In Memphis. With John Quinn."

"The tiger," he said with a nod. "She has a taste for shifters, doesn't she? Must like their heat." He paused to see if I would take umbrage. I disappointed him. "And the problem?"

"Tennessee. He knows of her gift. He intends to claim her as an asset."

His shadow muttered, "Bloodsuckers."

Thalia dropped fang and grinned at him. He took a step forward, hand on his sword. Niall snapped something angrily in his direction and the hothead stood down.

Niall smoothed away his annoyance and said, "And so you called me."

Only because I had no choice.

"Yes," I said. "You needed to know." Because his beloved great-granddaughter didn't trust him enough to share little details of her life with him. Details like her address.

Niall cocked his head and examined me for a moment. Here it came.

"This is a vampire matter. But you can't protect her." There was a trace of pleasure in his tone.

"Tennessee is not amenable to reason."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I see. And is he amenable to threats?"

"A sufficiently serious threat would stay his hand, yes."

Amusement was definitely playing around his eyes as he said condescendingly, "And you can't provide that, so soon in your reign. I understand." Fluidly, he stood and headed for the door, his goon following him.

Pam couldn't contain herself. She called after him, "Will you protect her?"

He turned slowly, a haughty expression on his face. "She is my kin, vampire. And no longer any concern of yours." He looked piercingly at me. "Or yours."

I nodded sharply.

I relaxed when the door slammed behind them. That had gone about as well as I expected. Niall would protect her. I hated admitting to him that I couldn't handle Tennessee, but at least he hadn't rubbed too much salt into the wound.

Hm. Maybe that was what I needed, a little salt. Wounds bathed in the sea healed faster, I remembered that. Lost in my musings, I almost jumped when Thalia blurred to stand in front of me.

Scowling she said, "Brigant taunted you. Tennessee taunted you. Kings should demand respect."

What did she want me to do? Start a war with everybody who looked at me sideways? I glared at her. She hissed at me, but she didn't move.

"What do you want of me?" I snapped.

Her eyes hard, she stared into mine. "Release me."

Pam swore softly.

I stared Thalia down, letting my power roll over her, but she didn't back down a hairsbreadth. Fuck me. Fine. She was too unpredictable anyway. If she wanted to jump ship, I was better off without her.

"I release you from your oath. You no longer owe me fealty. You may leave."

"Don't let the door hit your ass," Pam jeered. "Good luck finding another sheriff who'll put up with you."

Thalia ignored her, still staring into my eyes.

I tensed, ready to lunge up out of the chair if she made a move to attack. A bloodthirsty grin split her face and I tensed further. Most who saw that grin did not survive.

Gleefully she said, "Good. If I am free, entering Tennessee will not be an act of war."

I blinked.

Her grin broadened. "My sword is still yours."

I blinked again. "And what, exactly, do you plan to do with that sword?"

"Keep the telepath safe."

She hated humans. She thought Sookie was a liability, and yet she was offering to guard her. I was nonplussed. "Why?"

"Louisiana needs you. She is a weakness. For you. For the state. I do not trust the fairy to deal with that snake Bardulf." She shrugged. "Plus I do not like working at Fangtasia and I weary of your child."

"Pam can be… trying," I agreed.

Pam put her hands on her hips. "I'm right here. What happened to the respect owed to a sheriff?"

"You are not her sheriff. As of a minute ago."

"Your child is insolent," Thalia said disapprovingly.

"I like her that way," I said mildly.

Thalia snorted, but she stepped back allowing me space to stand. I looked down on her as I got to my feet.

"Thank you, Thalia. I will not forget this."

"Thank me if the telepath lives. I might yet decide she's too much trouble."

Still, I valued what she was doing. I nodded deeply and she blurred from the room.

Pam looked after her thoughtfully. "Well, that was unexpected."

"Yes." I glanced at her. "You feel better with her keeping an eye on Sookie."

"Yes. I trust Niall about as much as I need to breathe."

I didn't trust him much more than Pam, but Sookie had made her choice and gone where I couldn't protect her. It was out of my hands. Perhaps having her out of my state would finally get her off my mind and out of my heart.

…

**Footnotes:**

1\. Last name first in Japanese. This is not Takahashi from TB. I read about early European contact with Japan, and picked a name from that time. Complete coincidence. I didn't watch TB beyond S2!

2\. Kitajin means man from the north, I hope. Credit to my unpaid researcher (my son) for that translation. Sama is an old Japanese term of respect, slightly more formal than san.


	16. Killing Time and Keeping Secrets

Another week, another chapter. Thanks for the reviews, think I managed to reply to most of them. A few less feels in this one, hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Killing Time and Keeping Secrets**

* * *

After meeting Niall, Pam returned to Fangtasia and I flew west over Cross Lake. Not south towards Baton Rouge and the duties waiting for me.

It was late, I hadn't called, but there were lights on at the house in the woods. Deep in thought, I clattered the brass bell that hung by the door and waited. When it opened, the murmur of voices from inside finally penetrated my awareness.

"Eric," Rory said, puzzled but smiling."I wasn't expecting you."

Bright carefree laughter rang out from deep within the house. Rory was flushed, her eyes twinkling with mirth. She looked lovely. Gorgeous, in fact. The enticing scent of fae wafted from her, and still all I wanted to do was talk to her about the mess with Tennessee.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

"You have company," I said tersely, turning to leave.

She came after me. "Wait. What is it?"

I glanced at the open door pointedly.

"Politics?" she asked quietly.

I grimaced, and shook my head.

Her eyes softened. "Come in, Eric. Just for a moment."

I raised an eyebrow and sniffed audibly. "Some fairy you want me to bite?"

She laughed."No. I'd like to introduce you."

I hesitated, not in the mood for company. "Is that wise? I wouldn't want to intrude."

All at once she was completely serious. "You are always welcome in my home, Eric." Then she smiled impishly. "Go round the back. I'll meet you."

I did as she asked, checking the woods on the way. I trusted Rory, but not her guests. She ushered me through the dark greenhouse, whispering, "Don't cross the threshold. They're wary."

The inner doors were propped wide open, spilling light onto the flagstones. Inside Rory's three fae companions from Sanctum, and two part-demons – Ariadne and a male I didn't know – were relaxing on the overstuffed chairs. My fangs began to itch even though I was deliberately not inhaling.

From somewhere Rory produced a green, knobbled fruit the size of her fist. She split the rind and held it up. "Take a good sniff, Eric."

Stupidly, I did. An acrid stench clawed at my throat and nose. Recoiling and blinking rapidly, I felt like a sledgehammer had hit me between the eyes.

I sneezed violently. Twice.

"Gesundheit," Rory said, smirking. "Astonished looks good on you."

The pain and burning faded. Wiping my nose on the back of my sleeve, I growled, "Are you trying to kill me, woman?"

Her son was scowling, but the other males were hiding smirks. The blonde fae woman was pink, giggling behind her hand.

Ariadne was laughing so much her belly was shaking. She choked out, "My father had a demented hunting dog that had that exact expression when it sneezed."

"I haven't sneezed in decades. It takes a strong irritant," I said, folding my arms and leaning against the door-frame, trying to regain some dignity. I side-eyed Rory. "Don't you have any other guinea pigs? What is that anyway?"

She put the disgusting mess down carefully and wiped her hands on a cloth, wrinkling her nose. "It's like noni. Useful but smells bloody awful. It's a demon numbing agent. Is it working?"

Ah, clever. And prudent in present company. I took a cautious sniff. Nothing. "So far. How long?"

She leaned against the other side of the doorway. "Maybe ten minutes."

"It better wear off."

She grinned. "It does for demons. You're not so different."

"To demons maybe," muttered her son.

Rory gave him one of those looks of hers that could melt steel, before announcing, "This is my _guest, _Eric Northman. My son, Connal Madog."

I looked between their matching thunderous expressions and smirked. "I see the resemblance now."

"_Thanks_," she replied sarcastically.

"He still wants to stake me."

"He better not." Rory pursed her lips and glared at him. She gestured at the other male fae. "My friend and fellow herbalist, Bran Morcant."

He acknowledged me with a nod and none of Connal's animosity. The blonde next to him was inspecting me closely, head to toe. Nudging her, he said with a soft Welsh lilt, "And the gawker here is my wife, Elva."

Elva said playfully, "Oh, hush Bran. Rory, you didn't do him justice."

"Been singing my praises?" I teased lightly.

Rory laughed. "Don't let her admiration go to your head. She's hormonal."

Bran gave Rory a sharp look, wrapping a protective arm around his wife's waist. Elva leant into him, her hand going to her stomach.

Ah. That sort of hormone.

Connal was still seething, but before he could speak Ariadne cleared her throat, cutting him off. "Eric. My cousin, Sebastian Mithradates."

I exchanged a nod with the tall half-demon sitting next to her. He was the hardest to read, watchful and silent.

Apparently unable to contain his disgust, Connal hissed at Rory,"Risking your own neck is idiotic enough. Inviting him in with Elva here is sickening."

"Connal!" Rory admonished.

"You think your mark can control him? He'll turn on you like a rabid dog!"

Ariadne tutted. "Connal, Eric is no newborn at the mercy of bloodlust."

"They can't be trusted. None of them." Connal glared at Rory. "And it's an insult to my father's memory. Bloodsuckers drained him dry."

Elva gasped, giving me the impression she was much younger than the others.

Rory bristled. "Cadogan would hate that his son is so close-minded. Fae were responsible for your father's death, and well you know it."

He stood, fists clenched. "And you turned your back on your own people because of it. I'm leaving."

He stalked out, slamming the door. The bang echoed in the stunned silence.

"He has your temper," I observed.

"No, that's his father's," Rory muttered darkly. "Sometimes I envy you the ability to command your children."

Bran stroked his wife's arm and said cheerfully, "That might come in handy in a few months."

"Triplets," Rory said, her scowl relaxing. "Rather you than me."

Elva managed a weak smile, but her eyes were wet.

"I should go," I said. I hadn't come to cause trouble.

Rory walked me out, leading me through the trees to the edge of the lake. We stopped, looking out over the water.

I said softly, "You knew I would sneeze."

"I have tried it before. When Malcolm was looking for a way to make Sanctum safe for fae. We decided vampires wouldn't accept the loss of such a crucial sense, however temporarily. Or the looking ridiculous."

"You enjoyed embarrassing me."

"A little," she grinned, unapologetic. "It put Elva at ease. She was petrified. And it amused you."

I changed the subject before she could ask why I needed to be amused. "So, Cadogan is the star of that pleasant fairy tale you mentioned?"

She smiled, her eyes far away. "Yes. The romantic lead."

"Was he avenged?"

"Are you offering?"

I thought about it. "Yes." I might even dispose of the vampires who drained him if she asked. "Who was it?"

"Most of the fae responsible are dead. It was Breandan's faction. Sixty-three, early in the assassination campaign."

"Cadogan wasn't full fae?"

"No. Half. And Cad had opposed them for decades. We both had. That bastard Treasach was involved. He was offended that I healed those vampires in Bohemia. It was his idea to drop Cad, beaten and bleeding, near a nest of young vampires. To teach me a lesson."

"That's when your father killed Treasach."

"Yes. Cad's murder was the final straw."

"Were you together long?"

"A century and a half. I don't blame vampires, but Connal…" She sighed. "This is his first trip outside the Realm since he was a child. He distrusts other races."

"Ah." I refrained from asking why, but she told me anyway.

"He was born in Wales, like his father. 1825. The mining, the pollution, the increasing human population, the riots… Connal was six when we retreated to the Realm. Many part-fae did the same." She stared across the lake. "The influx hardened attitudes to us 'Earthers'. There was a backlash, the usual nonsense. We brought contamination, pollutants, we were to blame for the falling birth rate. Breandan gained ground. Fae who spoke out, caused trouble, like Cad did, were exiled. I wouldn't stay without him. Connal, who was twelve and by some fluke is almost full fae, begged to stay with his grandmother, Rosheen. It was a painful decision. Leaving him behind almost tore Cadogan and I apart."

I thought of the daughter Treasach had turned against her. "You sacrificed much your children."

"It kept Connal alive. I'd do it again."

I looked back at the house, thinking of the laughter before I crashed the party. Bran's protective embrace, Elva's condition. Sookie.

"What is it, Eric?" Rory asked softly.

I shook my head. "Another time."

I launched into the air, leaving fast and low over the moonlit water.

…

Operation Forget Sookie hit a few snags back in Baton Rouge.

The next night I was in the dojo, a barn-like building with a dark wooden floor. We were training wolves, the large sliding doors open to let in the warm August breeze.

Yuri Medvedev had seemed a good choice for head of daytime security. The enormous Russian shifted into his namesake, a bear. But what Yuri – or Yogi as the American wolves began calling him after they'd seen him eat – brought to the table in strength and brawn didn't compensate for his lack of brains, strategy or interpersonal skills.

The wolves disliked him. Yogi was not an affectionate nickname. It was an insult that bounced right off his thick skull.

Unfortunately, Goro wasn't having much luck finding a replacement.

We let the wolves take a break. Goro and I, swords in hand, were executing kata to kill time when Geraldine appeared in the doorway with a vampire guard. She should've clocked off an hour ago, but she often worked late.

She waited politely while I finished the movements. "Mr Northman, sorry to disturb you. You have a visitor."

"Who?"

"A Mr Compton. We walked him over."

Bill stepped into view. Geraldine was far too sharp to let him wander about on his own. Dedicated _and_ clever, I'd picked a winner there.

"Bill."

He bowed. "Eric."

Goro paused his kata.

"Your majesty," Bill corrected swiftly, eyeing Goro's katana.

I nodded to my second. "Take over, Takahashi."

"As you wish, Dono1," he returned, bowing respectfully.

"My office," I said and Bill fell silently into step beside me. "Anything else Geraldine?"

"Those letters are on my desk. See you tomorrow, Mr Northman."

I nodded to the vampires on lobby duty, and to the one stationed at the top of the stairs. In the outer office Sanjay Gupta, Geraldine's vampire counterpart, was at his desk. The young Hindu, who I'd picked for his skill with technology and not his Bollywood good looks, pressed his palms together and bowed as we passed.

Bill stiffened. Sanjay's presence irritated him. Good.

Inside the office I indicated the visitor chair, and sat behind my desk, kicking my feet up and leaning back, not hiding how pissed I was that he thought he could just drop in.

Bill picked his words carefully. "There have been developments in Bon Temps."

Sookie. That made me pissed enough to yank his chain. "Let me guess. Hummingbird Road has been resurfaced."

He blinked.

"The church needs a new roof. The shifter had to break up a fight. The parish put in a new stoplight." I waved vaguely. "Tell me when I'm close."

"It's a serious matter," he said stiffly.

"I see. Your little scheme has caught up with you, vampires from five states are baying for your blood and you need my protection. It was bound to happen eventually."

His jaw twitched, betraying annoyance, but he spoke calmly. "Not at all. Sookie's house is unguarded. Thalia has not been at her post. Since Sunday."

I raised an eyebrow. "Pam is in charge of Area 5."

"She said it was no concern of mine."

"You don't say," I said drily.

His voice got colder. "Sookie is gone. Where is she?"

"Tell me, are the two of you particularly close? Do you go over and paint each others nails? Perhaps braid her hair. You had a thing for that, didn't you?"

A flicker of anger mixed with confusion passed swiftly across his brow. "What are you driving at, Eric?"

"Simply this. Would she share her plans with you?"

Clearly not or he wouldn't be here. Bill considered his answer.

Fuck. I'd have to have this inane conversation twice. Merlotte would want answers too. In fact, he should have been whining at my door by now. Had he gone to Pam? She hadn't mentioned it.

No.

Merlotte already knew.

Sookie had told him. Because he'd been a proper _husband, _I thought bitterly.

Bill finally said, "I saw her last week. If she had travel plans, she would have asked me to keep an eye on the house." He added with a hint of smugness, "We _are_ neighbours."

"So the answer is no, then. You are not close. Maybe the shifter knows where she is." I reached for the phone.

He shifted minutely. "I spoke to him."

"When?"

"Last night. I was concerned. There was a commotion at Sookie's on Saturday. I offered my assistance but Thalia… refused. She was very tight-lipped about it."

Good for Thalia. "What did the shifter say?"

"That it wasn't any of my business."

"I'm sensing a theme, Bill. Maybe it _is_ none of your business."

"Sookie's safety will always be my business," he said icily. "You've pulled her guards. If you've taken–"

I sat up, letting my feet thud onto the floor. "Watch your tone. Be very careful about accusing _your_ _king_ of kidnapping."

His flinch was most satisfying. He gritted out a retraction. "I apologise, your majesty. I just want to know that she's safe."

I shrugged. Who knew with Sookie, even with Niall's protection. She had an annoying knack of finding trouble. I ignored a niggle of worry.

"But you know where she is," he persisted.

I relented, pulling the neat stack of letters towards me as I said, "She's in Memphis."

"Memphis?" A second later he exclaimed, "Quinn."

I checked the first letter and signed it with a flourish. "Yes." I looked up sharply. "Do not get any ideas about going to see her. Consider that an order. It really is none of your business. She is under Niall's official protection."

"As Envoy? Is that wise after–?"

"The fae are at peace."

Wisely, he didn't question that. One of the perks of my position was being privy to secrets. It was common knowledge that the portals were open, that the fae had regional envoys and had renegotiated their treaties with us, but not that they had a lasting political settlement and a council. That news was spreading more slowly.

"Now if you wouldn't mind..." I gestured at the letters.

"Of course." He got up, bowed and went to the door.

"Oh, and Bill. This conversation is confidential. I know how good you are at keeping _secrets_."

His shoulders tensed. "Yes, your majesty."

Any sense of triumph left me once he was gone.

I only knew where Sookie was because Pam was more concerned about Sookie's neck than heeding her pleas to keep it from me. Bill was still closer to Sookie than I was.

He wasn't the reason she ran screaming from Louisiana, was he?

Pushing thoughts of Sookie away, I buzzed Sanjay and asked not to be disturbed for an hour. After ploughing briskly through the stack of letters, I slipped into downtime, thinking of Bill and a cold clear night back in February.

…

It was two sunsets into the takeover. I was on the move, trying to be everywhere at once, and I had two hours spare to handle Bill. His little secret-keeping racket was about to crash down around his ears.

If it gave him influence over kings, albeit the foolish Wisconsin, I needed to clip his wings. If possible, turn his scheme to my purposes.

Thalia met us in the cemetery.

"He's packing," she said.

"Keep watch," I ordered.

The front door splintered easily under my boot. My merry band of accomplices swept into the house behind me, fanning out as I blurred upstairs. The fight was short. I took Bill down with a swift blow to his temple, kicked the sword from his hand, bound him in silver, and hauled him downstairs. I dumped him on the couch in the front room to heal while we conducted a very thorough search of his dining room, where his computer was, surrounded by stacks of database discs.

By the time Bill came round Sanjay and Poppy Grimwood, Pam's extremely useful witch, had set up their equipment on an end table and were untangling a nest of cables. I was sitting opposite Bill, Rory was standing behind him and Pam was waiting in the doorway.

His eyes fluttered open and he licked the corner of his mouth, where blood trickled down from his temple.

I glanced out to the hall, where Pam had scattered the contents of the suitcase we'd found by the front door. "Seems we almost missed you, Bill."

"It's true then." His words were slurred. "Teresa is gone."

"Yes. Heading somewhere nice? I hear Vegas is pleasant this time of year."

He shook his head. In denial or to clear the fog from his head wound, I couldn't tell. It didn't matter. Rory, acting as a lie detector, confirmed Bill was running to de Castro with a discreet signal. Discreet as Sanjay and Poppy didn't know Rory was an empath and we planned to keep it that way.

"You'll have to disappoint Felipe," I drawled. "I have it on good authority the new regime wants you to stay."

More alert, Bill turned his head, scanning the room. He lingered briefly on Sanjay, but showed no reaction to the younger vampire. Sanjay hooked Bill's computer up, moved to his laptop and began typing furiously.

I didn't hide my amusement.

Sanjay had been turned in the seventies, in California. I'd arranged for him to bump into Bill in Nevada a fortnight ago, posing as an empty-headed playboy stuck in the past, no threat to anyone. In reality, Sanjay was a bright mathematician and tech wizard who thirsted for knowledge more than women, even in undeath.

Playing dumb, Sanjay had begged Bill to teach him the tricks of the modern computer age, offering to pay handsomely. He convinced Bill invite him into his home. Bill had enjoyed having a devotee hanging onto his every word, but he'd been teaching his metaphorical grandmother to suck eggs.

Sanjay could hack rings around him, so Sanjay said. Politely. He wasn't one to gloat.

Currently, Bill seemed more intrigued by Poppy than Sanjay.

Even I'd stared when I met her earlier. And after Pam had warned me the young witch dressed to shock, sporting a different look every time they met. Tonight Poppy was experimenting with '_Gothic Lolita'_, whatever the fuck that was.

She certainly looked… arresting.

Her hair, cut in a bob, was dyed a harsh chemical black that gleamed with a blue sheen. Her ears were pierced multiple times, but she wore a single pair of earrings, long dangling curlicues of some dull black metal, striking against her pale neck.

Her clothes were eccentric. A tightly fitted jacket with an excess of piping and epaulettes reminiscent of Edwardian England. If Edwardian ladies had worn coats that ended at the knee, that is. Pam asked where she got it, impressed by the tailoring.

Delighted, Poppy had shown off the rest of her outfit. Pam had approved the white ruffled blouse, but shaken her head at the petticoats. Poppy's skirt, short, black and hemmed with a row of tiny skulls, flared out dramatically from a narrow waist, reminding me of bustles and whalebone corsets, endless lacing and fuss. Exercises in frustration I didn't miss and Pam heartily agreed. Below the skirt, blue and black striped stockings peeked over knee-high black boots.

Laced boots that purred _kinky _paired with clothes that whispered _demure,_ styles borrowed from a time when showing an ankle was scandalous.

It was a very odd mix, and I'd seen some strange things in my time.

Bill looked from Poppy to me. "Interesting attire. Is she related to Diantha by any chance?"

Pam laughed. Bill was playing it cool for someone in chains, but then he'd always excelled at hiding his reactions.

"_She_ has a name," Poppy said, unbuttoning her jacket. "Although Meadow Poppy Starfire is a mouthful, granted."

"Hippy parents?" Sanjay asked, looking up from his keyboard.

"Uh-huh. Could've been worse. Big sis got Honeyblossom Rosepetal." She shuddered. "Any luck with a brute force hack?"

Sanjay typed for another minute. "We're in. Mr Compton, for future reference off-the-shelf encryption software is not secure."

Bill shrugged that off as Poppy shrugged off her jacket and draped it over a chair.

She was wearing unusual choker, hung with a fake Victorian cameo of a white skull with ringlets on a black background. Pam found it amusing.

"That choker is really not you," she drawled.

"It goes with the outfit," Poppy said, undoing her cuffs and rolling up her blouse to reveal a steel bracelet shaped like a snake.

"The rest is much more you," Pam said, glancing down at the heavy metal rings on Poppy's fingers

Poppy grinned. "Should be. I made those."

"Nothing but the database and routine files," Sanjay announced. "I'll try the backup we found. Are we sure the dining room is clear?"

"Pam," I said.

She disappeared. Splintering crashes and thuds let Bill know she was tearing the room apart. More than we had already; that back-up had been hidden in the floor. Bill's shoulders tightened.

Good, let him think I had time to tear his ancestral home apart room by room.

Poppy frowned, playing her part, the one I'd coached her for on the way over. "This information you're after. You sure it's stored electronically?"

"From what I know of Bill, it won't be on paper," I said, watching Bill closely. "He's enamoured with the information age."

Rory widened her eyes, signalling Bill was afraid. I was right. The information was here. This wasn't a huge waste of my time.

Bill was one of life's natural record-keepers and he'd enjoyed chronicling our kind for his database. I'd gambled that he would keep a record of vampires who wanted to be kept off the books too – the rogues and spies whose secrets we believed he was keeping for a fee.

"He wouldn't store it on-line?" Poppy asked.

"Not if valued his neck." If he had any sense he'd have kept it all in his head, where no-one could steal it.

The witch looked thoughtful. "It'll be hidden, protected. On a flash-drive maybe. You might want to pat him down."

Rory flicked her eyes to the left. No go. That was a dead-end.

I smiled at Bill, fangs down. "It might take more than a pat down. Those things are small enough to swallow."

Bill glared. "You won't get anything from me."

"I have all night," I lied smoothly. "And someone who can repair you if things get… messy."

Bill strained to see who was behind him and Rory winked at me, knowing I was bluffing. About gutting him like a fish, anyway. I might have to stake him if things didn't go my way.

Sanjay piped up. "Just the database, emails, household accounts. No trace of anything untoward on here either. But this is odd. The time of the last back-up doesn't agree."

Poppy said, "There's another hard drive."

Sanjay suggested, "Or a second system. Another pc or a laptop, independent of this one. Kept off the net. Secure. We need to find it."

Bill's face was a stony mask. He might have a talent for deceit, but he couldn't hide the truth from Rory, who indicated Sanjay was right. The trail was _hot_.

"You didn't see another system when you were here?" I asked Sanjay, watching Rory in the corner of my eye.

"No. But I only had access to this floor."

Rory signalled. _Cold_.

"Hiding places?" I prompted Sanjay.

"His primary resting place is under the stairs." _Icy_.

"What about upstairs?" _Warmer_. "Is there an attic?" _Colder_.

"Yes, but it's hardly used," drawled Pam from the doorway. "None of his scent up there."

"The bedrooms then." _Hot, sizzling hot._ "Start there. Check the walls, loose floorboards. Tear the place apart."

I dragged Bill upstairs to watch the destruction. He was wishing me dead, I could tell from his eyes, but he kept his mouth shut instead of cursing me. I admired his control, but with Rory's hints it took barely ten minutes to locate and open the wall-safe hidden in a closet in the second bedroom.

I knew he'd bought one. His accountant – married to one of his Bellefleur descendants, the lawyer – had foolishly claimed it as an expense on Bill's tax return. Not that the accountant had leaked that willingly, but he had vampire clients. One of them owed me a favour. A small favour. Enough for a glamoured secretary, a file left open long enough to copy.

I knew the safe's make and model, and how to open it once Poppy removed its wards.

Inside we hit pay dirt: a shiny laptop and a sleek hard-drive, both top of the range, sitting on some documents and an address book. There were a couple of disposable phones too.

Poppy hissed a warning before I could reach into the safe. "Magic. On the drive."

We expected that. The system downstairs was far too easy to break into, a diversion for the casual thief. This one would be better protected. Sanjay was a good hacker, but there were other ways to protect data. Spells that were keyed to the owner, spells that wiped everything if the wrong person touched the device.

Witches were an inventive lot.

But we came prepared. Sanjay pulled on thick gloves and gingerly removed the laptop and drive. I flicked though the papers. Hidden bank accounts, a list of contacts. Coded, but still.

Bill was far too anal for his own good.

We traipsed back to downstairs, Pam carrying Bill over her shoulder and not being careful of corners and door-jambs. Sanjay set the hard-drive and laptop down and stepped aside. "Time for you to do your thang, Mistress Poppy."

She made a fist and jabbed one of her rings into the palm of her other hand. Blood welled up and she smeared it over her snake bracelet, chanting a few words.

The metal began to undulate, slithering around her wrist.

Bill's eyes widened when she moved towards him.

"Don't worry. I just need some blood."

Pam was only too delighted to hold Bill down. We all watched, fascinated, as the curious thing slithered languidly, stretching out to latch onto his wrist. There was a tiny crunch and Bill stiffened.

Poppy grinned. "Actually, scratch that. Do worry. This baby is gonna let us find things you don't want finding."

Poppy was a find herself. She called herself a techno-thaumaturge. Or a metal magician. Or a mage-smith. Even Poppy couldn't decide on the best term for what she did – combining technology with magic using an extremely rare talent for animating metal. Her mentor, an older witch with the same gift, the one who'd made the gloves for me when I was injured, had only ever come across one other with that talent.

That rareness meant Pam was quite willing to put up with Poppy's steep fees and her odd behaviour.

The snake let go and Poppy took it over to the hard drive. It wriggled its 'head' into the port and she guided its 'tail' into a port in Bill's laptop, so it linked the two. The smell of magic filled the air, and Sanjay and the witch stared at the screen expectantly.

"We're through the wards. Password prompt," Sanjay said, but Poppy stopped him reaching for the keyboard.

"Wait, if you mess up it might wipe everything. I have a better way." She twisted one of her rings, and sprinkled a fine powder evenly over Bill's keyboard, murmuring an incantation. A whisper of breeze stirred the air.

Rory, who'd moved to watch, gave a whistle. "It's highlighting the keys. Clever, witch, very clever."

Poppy preened. "Thanks, fairy. It's a modified ectoplasmic reconstruction."

Sanjay typed carefully and a few minutes later announced, "The laptop itself is wiped clean. The external drive looks like a mirror of the back-up we found down here, but there's a hidden partition."

Pam and I exchanged a glance.

Sanjay worked his magic. "Okay. Looks like we've got some spreadsheets, probably financial. Some files labelled with initials and dates, meetings maybe. And a bigger file, labelled Beiderbecke Tapes."

Pam frowned. "Beiderbecke was a jazz player in the twenties."

"It's a music file." The keys clicked under Sanjay's fingers. "No, it's not. The file type was disguised. It's a database, same as the other one, but smaller. It's password protected."

"That's it," I said.

Poppy repeated her parlour trick with the powder. Sanjay hit some keys and hesitated. He cleared his throat. "How dangerous is this, Eric?"

Ah. Good point. I had no idea whose secrets Bill had gathered. "Potentially incendiary."

"Your eyes only?"

"That would be best."

Pam glared at Poppy until she huffed and moved away. Rory rolled her eyes at me, but she moved too. I took Sanjay's place at the keyboard, waiting until he was on the other side of the screen to hint enter.

The file opened and a blank title screen appeared, with an unlabelled search box, and a link called 'Current locations'. One click and North America appeared, overlayed with thumbnails connected with a spider's web of lines. Each thumbnail was a vampire with secrets to hide.

I spent a few minutes scrutinising the ones in Louisiana. There was one nasty surprise, and three confirmations. Nothing too concerning. Then I went back to the title screen and searched for one name.

Appius Livius Ocella.

He was there, of course. Greyed out, with date of his final death noted.

I closed the database.

"Make a single copy of everything on there. Then destroy the drive and the laptop." Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bill's shoulders slump.

Once that was done, I packed all the documents and the flash-drive with the copy – warded to the eye-teeth by Poppy and keyed to my blood – into my bag. Pam handed the witch a packet full of cash.

"Sanjay," I said, tossing him the keys to the van. "Drive Poppy back to Shreveport and report to Maxwell."

If he was surprised at the dismissal he didn't show it. He pressed his palms together, and bowed.

Poppy winked. "Fun working with you, Eric. Seeya."

"She's a strange one," Pam said after they left, shaking her head. "Hooped petticoats."

I chuckled. "Giving skinny women hips and disappointing men for centuries."

She stuck her middle finger up at me and I winked at her as I retook my seat opposite Bill. Rory took her position behind him, but this time Pam perched on the arm of the couch.

"Bill," I began. "It's time for a reckoning between us."

"You have what you came for. You don't need to gloat."

He was bitter, resigned, expecting his end. Unfortunately for him, I was not that merciful.

"You will answer some questions. Honestly. Then you will swear fealty to me." He might not be loyal, but I wanted him close, where I could monitor him. I couldn't be sure I had _all_ his secrets.

"You don't trust me. I'll be your prisoner, your whipping boy."

"Not literally. I don't need you in chains." I patted the bag next to me meaningfully. "Swear fealty and obey me, and I will be reasonable." I paused for a moment. "Of course, I will make sure Felipe thinks you betrayed him. So running to Vegas is out. And if you don't behave, some of your more... _charming_ clients will find their secrets spilt and come looking for your head."

He licked his lips, thinking it over. He saw reason.

"Very well, Eric. Ask your questions."

"The truth, remember."

Pam opened her purse and pulled out a stake, just to reinforce my point. The second Rory indicated Bill was lying, he was dust.

I sat forwards. "That trip to Peru," I said softly. "You tracked down Ocella. Who did you tell?"

Bill froze.

"Felicia helped you heal from Neave's bite. Did you speak of my maker to her?"

"No."

Rory didn't flag his denial.

"Did you pass the information to Freyda some other way?"

"No."

"Nadia?"

"No."

So far, he passed the test.

"Felipe?"

He hesitated. "No."

Rory shrugged. I snarled and gestured to Pam.

"Wait," he said urgently. "It's the truth. I didn't tell Felipe. But..."

"But what?" I snapped.

His eyes shifted uneasily. "Felipe approached me. After the pledging, demanding to know who your maker was. I convinced him I didn't know. He ordered me to contact my sources, find the information as soon as possible."

"You did not tell him. Why?"

Coldly, he said, "You were the only thing standing between him and Sookie."

Rory shrugged again, but his reason made sense.

"You told someone,"I said watching him closely. Rory nodded behind him. "Sophie Ann?"

"No." He paused before he admitted reluctantly, "Andre. I don't think he had time to tell anyone else."

I blinked. That was unexpected. "Rhodes."

He nodded. "The night before the bombing. He was furious with your interference."

"You were angry too. I prevented you from going to Sookie," I reminded him.

He grimaced. "Yes. But that was not why I told him."

I cocked my head. No, Bill wouldn't want Andre to gain control of Sookie. Which meant...

"Andre had some hold over you."

He didn't answer, but Rory nodded.

I didn't have time to force that out of him. I needed to know who else might be after Bill's secrets.

"How much does Felipe know about this venture of yours?"

"Only that I had many useful contacts from researching the first database. I passed him a few tidbits to keep him happy."

All for a handsome reward, naturally. I pressed him again. "He didn't commission you to create a secret database? Did someone else?" That would explain all the records Bill had so foolishly kept.

"No. This was my project, mine alone," he said with a mixture of pride and annoyance.

"Who else knows?"

"Until tonight, I thought no-one. Was it Karin? Was she spying on me?"

Pam hissed at his disappointed tone. As if Bill had any right to expect loyalty from Karin.

I said calmly, "Yes. Karin found out. She had centuries on you." And she'd dispatched more ruthless blackmailers than him. "No-one else knows?"

"No."

Rory nodded.

"Swear fealty. I will protect you from any disgruntled _clients _for as long as you are loyal."

He uttered his oath through a tight jaw. I owned him now and he knew it.

Pam untied him and we left.

Out of Bill's earshot, I asked Rory if he'd been completely honest.

"Certainly about your maker. But he was hiding something connected to Felipe. He flinched internally when his name came up, and he was relieved when you didn't press."

…

I came out of downtime smirking. Trapping Bill had been very gratifying, a fitting payback for worming his way back into Sookie's good graces while I dealt with the contract, for whispering poison in her ear about me.

I sobered, remembering I had sworn off thinking about Sookie. The dojo. I'd take my frustrations out on some wolves.

Bill wasn't the last snag in Operation Forget Sookie.

A week later I had my regular monthly meeting with Cataliades. He'd asked for an extra half hour of my time. I assumed there was a problem with a contract, so I was puzzled when he packed away his paperwork after the usual hour.

Cataliades shut his briefcase and sat back, dabbing his face with his handkerchief.

"Eric... This is a delicate matter." He handled delicate matters all the time. Why the hesitation? He licked his lips. "Are you aware of Miss Stackhouse's whereabouts?"

I nodded curtly, annoyed that she was intruding again, and with myself for immediately tensing.

"She is under Niall's protection," he added and waited for my reaction.

And waited.

As perplexed as I'd ever seen him, he frowned so deeply his eyes disappeared under the weight of his bushy eyebrows. Softly, almost to himself, he said, "Either you no longer care that she is beyond your reach or..."

I stilled, taking the fifth.

"You already know. How? I doubt she or Niall–"

Comprehension dawned in his eyes, followed rapidly by shock, then fear. For his life, I was sure of it. There was only one reason for that.

Betrayal.

My fangs snapped down and I growled.

At once we were both on our feet, his chair knocked to the floor and my body coiled to spring over the desk. Time slowed, microseconds expanding as I plotted trajectories to intercept him should he try to escape, the outcome hidden in a swirl of probabilities as I waited for him to make his move.

The intercom buzzed, loud in the tension.

The wave broke. Time sped up. Danger passed. I jabbed at the button. Geraldine's voice said, "I have those contracts printed out."

"Bring them," I snapped.

Cataliades picked up his chair and lowered his large frame carefully onto it as the door opened. My eyes were locked on his, coal black against his blanching face. Neither of us spoke. In place of trajectories, imagined plots tumbled through my mind. Someone had gotten to the incorruptible demon. Who? Nevada? Tennessee?

Geraldine came to my side, put the contracts down, and left, closing the door behind her.

"Explain," I snapped, still on my feet.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. "You were the one who involved Niall?"

I gave a very minute nod.

He crumpled, sinking further into the chair. The rank smell of sulphur reached me. He looked… ill. Old. He closed his eyes, whispering, "Forgive me, Fintan."

"Fintan?" I asked sharply. What did he have to do with Fintan Brigant? "Why do I get the impression you should be begging me for forgiveness, not some long-dead fairy?"

"I'm afraid I miscalculated. Grievously. I thought..."

He patted at his face with his damp handkerchief and I growled impatiently.

"A minute, a minute," he begged. I gritted my teeth while he gathered himself and regained some colour. With a sigh, he continued. "I thought you were about to, or had already claimed Miss Stackhouse as an asset. Against her wishes."

Why would he think that? He would have known if I had. The paperwork would have passed through his hands.

The line Quinn had fed Sookie.

She'd contacted Cataliades. He knew she planned to flee. He knew and he hadn't warned me. I paced behind the desk, furious with him. Harshly I accused, "She told you her plans."

He winced. "Not as such. We spoke on the phone. She was vague. She didn't mention Memphis or John Quinn, but she asked several questions about assets. I misread the situation."

If he'd told me before she left, I could have spoken to her, avoided… I wanted to rip his arms off.

"When?"

He looked embarrassed. "A few days before she left, I believe."

I slapped the desk angrily. The wood groaned but held. "You helped her go to Quinn. When she was safe here."

"I did not," he denied, sweating again.

One of those tumbling ideas lit up. Sophie Ann had used Quinn to co-opt Sookie for Rhodes.

And Cataliades suggested it. The tiger told me that himself. I assumed the wily lawyer had done that merely so Sophie Ann could circumvent me, make Sookie part of her retinue, not mine.

But perhaps Cataliades had other motives. Motives that meant he still wanted Sookie with the tiger.

"You championed Quinn to Sophie Ann. Niall favours Quinn too." I was watching his face. There was a flicker of... something, but he stayed silent.

I growled again. "You've been working for Niall for years. Serving two masters never ends well, demon."

He stood slowly, straightening his jacket with dignity, his eyes fierce. "No. I have worked for Niall as a lawyer, that is true. But I have never been loyal to him. If I put another's interests ahead of yours in this matter, it was Miss Stackhouse's. Not her great-grandfather's."

I blinked. Sookie's interests?

A demon lawyer with a reputation for talking his way out of tight spots facing an angry king: I should doubt every word he uttered. Nevertheless, my instinct was to believe him.

He _was_ close to Sookie. But that was because he was acting as Niall's proxy…

Perhaps not. Perhaps there was more to it, perhaps he held genuine affection for Sookie. I forced myself to calm and sat, indicating for him to do the same. Discovering I had gone to Niall had unsettled the demon deeply. I wanted to know why.

"Explain your connection to Sookie." Realising he might be bound by confidentiality I added, "As much as you can."

"Fintan... was a friend."

The mixed gathering at Rory's house. Fae and demons socialising. Plausible. "Go on."

"Fintan asked me to watch over his family here." He sighed unhappily. "The last thing he wanted was–"

"Niall's involvement," I supplied in a flash of understanding. Niall had searched Louisiana for Fintan's descendants, ergo they'd been hidden from him. By Fintan. "Why suggest the tiger to Sophie Ann?"

"I was, by that time, privy to Bill Compton's assignment and the hurt it caused. An intimate relationship with a vampire was concerning, given Miss Stackhouse's ancestry and, ah, tempting blood. I discovered Quinn was interested. He was free of his debts, not tied to any vampire. He seemed a better choice."

"Do you still think so?"

"I didn't push her towards him, Eric. When we spoke, she seemed to be exploring possibilities, not preparing to leave immediately. I warned her she would need help to settle in another state. I had hoped she would come to me, but it seems she acted impulsively."

"She always does." I snorted. "And she never asks for help."

"No, she doesn't. I…" He licked his lips. "Eric, what you did for her three years ago showed great…respect for her. But I thought it was possible you considered your obligations discharged, that her wishes were secondary to the needs of your state."

I admitted quietly, "I had no plans to claim her as an asset, Desmond. Not against her wishes."

"I did not know," he said regretfully. "Diantha told me Sookie was furious after you met at Sanctum. Adding to that, the rumours about you and Miss Kingfisher, the fact you're in business together…Then Sookie called, asking questions about assets." He shrugged his heavy frame awkwardly. "I concluded she would be better off leaving."

"Perhaps she is."

He shook his head "I doubt that. If I had spoken to you, things might have… I apologise, Eric. This is the second time a mistake of mine has cost you."

I sensed he was more upset about what it might have cost Sookie to accept Niall's help, but I didn't want to explore that. Or point out that telling me she was leaving might not have changed anything. Sookie was rarely swayed from a course once she'd set her mind on it. And she'd set her course with Quinn quite emphatically, that was very clear.

I deflected from that line of thought. "Ocella was to blame for Oklahoma."

"I could have limited the damage. With this too. Eric, our relationship is compromised. You will not trust me after this. I cannot continue as your lawyer, but I will stay until I find a suitable replacement. It's the least I can do." He wiped his face and muttered into the crumpled square of linen, "Perhaps it's time I retired."

Damn. I was losing a good lawyer. "Very well. It will leave you free to act in Sookie's interests, I suppose."

He grimaced. "Unfortunately not. Niall personally informed me that now Sookie is his charge I am surplus to requirements. He told you the same?"

"Something similar, yes." No shock there. "What does he have against you?"

He gave me a significant look. "I tried to find you a loophole."

Niall really wanted me gone. I filed that away. "Niall will keep her safe in Tennessee."

He got wearily to his feet. "Perhaps."

"He will. He loves her."

He picked up his briefcase. "Fintan told me once that his father's love always came with strings."

He left me to chew on that, until I realised I was sitting idle in my office, thinking about Sookie. I forced myself downstairs to find a donor. I took one look at them and realised I couldn't stomach a woman. Not with her already on my mind. It would stir too many memories. I picked one of the men, telling myself it was more efficient, giving me longer until I needed to feed again.

…

**Footnotes:**

Dono is, as near as I can tell, what a sixteenth century samurai would have called his lord.

A note on canon: I don't know whether Sookie told Eric about her relationship to Mr Cataliades or the origins of her telepathy in the last few books. When I came to this chapter, I decided the story worked better if she hadn't. I don't think that's a stretch, given the things she kept from Eric in the earlier books.


	17. Doldrums

Hi all. Thanks as always for the reviews, I enjoy reading them. Oh, and thanks to whoever mentioned Hrithik Roshan. He's very pretty! Hope you enjoy...

* * *

**Doldrums**

* * *

I prepared the donor's neck and bit down carefully. Swallowing as soon as the blood welled up, I nicked my tongue and licked the neat punctures closed before I turned back to the smartly dressed brunette observing us under the cold fluorescent lighting.

"The whole process is no more uncomfortable than donating to the Red Cross," I said.

The donor, Gloria, nodded and grinned. "Only we get steak dinner and chocolate cake as a reward instead of tea and cookies."

Gloria was a good choice for tonight's demonstration, her natural setting was perky.

"And you're happy with the conditions here, Miss Hernandez?" asked the brunette, scribbling in her notebook.

"Yes, ma'am," Gloria replied enthusiastically. "The pay is great, it's just a few hours a week and I can study here."

The brunette switched off her recorder and closed the notebook with a decisive snap.

At last.

Fucking bureaucrats. Small-minded petty bureaucrats. And this one worshipped the god of tick-boxes. I could tell, after enduring her excruciatingly meticulous attention to detail for the last two hours. If she parroted one more federal regulation… I would bet my right fang she had her eye on a promotion. She reeked of ambition.

I walked her out to the lobby. Keeping the sarcasm out of my voice I said, "If you have any more questions, you have my number."

The BSA representative for Baton Rouge smiled. It didn't reach her eyes or counter her air of polite, professional detachment. Poised for disapproval at the slightest provocation, I was sure.

"What you've done here is very encouraging," she said. Clutching the folder of medical records and insurance forms I'd provided to her chest like a talisman, she held out her hand.

I shook it, conceding the point. We were expected to fit into her world, not her into ours.

"It's been a positive first visit, Mr Northman. Good evening."

"Goodnight, Ms Lindenberg."

I watched her leave before I turned to Dolores Winterbourne, the 'house mother' I employed to manage the in-house donors. In contrast to the slender form of the BSA official, Dolores was a buxom matron in her fifties but she was just as ruthless in the pursuit of her duties. Not much got past her.

Unlike Ms Sally Lindenberg, Dolores, who could pass for Creole, was not as human as she looked. Her ancestry made her blood unappealing to us and her will inflexible. She had a natural resistance to glamour, a quality essential for dealing with those of my retinue who might wish to circumvent the rules I'd put in place for the donors.

She was also a qualified nurse, which came in handy for the health checks that had so impressed Ms Lindenberg. Dolores screened the donors for Sino-Aids and silver for our protection; and disease, anaemia and drugs for theirs. She came recommended by Ludwig, whom she had worked for in Shreveport, before moving here two years ago to be near her son.

Not that anyone here knew she had a family. That had been something she insisted upon. I wasn't sure whether that was to protect them or protect her reputation as a hard-headed bitch. Either way I was happy to play along.

"Thoughts?" I asked her.

"She's a stickler for the rules. With no sense of humour. Might cause problems."

I nodded in agreement. "She could not find fault tonight."

"Of course. I run a tight ship."

"You do. She will contact some of the donors. Interview them alone."

"They won't say anything out of line," Dolores said confidently.

She had a right to that confidence. She vetted all the donors personally and thoroughly, and kept an eye on them during their short shifts. Sunset to midnight – for which they were compensated generously, including a health insurance package.

None of the vampires here needed nightly sustenance. The older ones hardly used the donors, preferring to make their own arrangements off-site. We kept bagged and synthetic in stock. Between that and rotating their shifts, the donors weren't over-used.

Keeping them healthy and wholesome was essential. I had registered the place as a vampire-owned business, which meant regular inspections. Subjecting ourselves to the BSA's scrutiny was part of a wider strategy to convince the authorities we could police our own feeding. It was that or the human government would be driven to more extreme interference. None of us wanted that.

Dolores had recruited college students rather than rednecks. Gloria, for instance, was studying biology, and her textbooks had been spread over one of the tables when I showed Ms Lindenberg the donor lounge. Most of our donors were intelligent, hard-working and open-minded. They appreciated the pay and the perks, but they weren't enamoured with the fanged.

A different class of meal to the usual 'fangbanger'. One that would be treated with more respect.

No bite marks. Goro had approved of that – he was a fastidious feeder. That was second nature to those of us who had spent centuries leaving no trace of our meals. If any balked at returning to that after a few heady years of marking their prey freely, tough. The orgy of excess was over. Call it the price of progress.

Glamouring the donors was restricted to emergencies too, and even then as minimally as possible. With the BSA breathing down our necks we couldn't afford to lobotomise the livestock. No more Gingers. That did pose a security risk, but that was why the donors were only here for a few hours after dark, and were kept to their area on the first floor.

They had a cafeteria they shared with the other breathing staff and their own lounge, with three small side rooms for feeding. Those rooms were white and sterile, impressing upon everybody that this was a clinical transaction. Of course, there was sometimes more to it than blood, we were vampires. But any other fluid exchange had to be voluntary on the donors part, and privately arranged so we didn't fall foul of anti-prostitution laws.

Besides they were all here to work, breathers and vampires alike. Playtime should be on their own time.

And I was not wasting my time on petty disputes over donors, a frequent hazard amongst possessive creatures such as ourselves. Dolores kept a sharp eye out for problems of that nature, and my retinue had been warned that if they developed a favourite, the human would be removed from the general pool and become their responsibility.

Neb and Oskar had similar regimes for the donor pools in their main offices, but Pam and Rasul didn't. Area 4 had too few vampires, and Fangtasia wasn't the blood- and flesh-market it once was. Private arrangements, away from the BSA's watchful gaze, were the rule in their areas.

We recommended three reputable agencies to resident vampires seeking a reliable meal. I used them occasionally when we needed extra donors. One had started as a way to treat the injured – meals on wheels, vampire-style – and specialised in good quality blood from healthy, mature well-fed humans. Ludwig had used the service when I was injured and I discovered from Rory that the diminutive doctor part-owned it. Ludwig vetted the clients, only taking on vampires who would respect the donors wishes on glamouring, usually minimal, and 'extras', usually not on offer.

The other two were traditional escort-style agencies supplying young, attractive donors who were willing to provide more than blood off the books as it were. All the agencies were expensive, especially for the newly-turned, but it was another way to demonstrate we were capable of abiding by the law, drinking only from the willing. And, in return for the business, the agencies reported vampires who mistreated their meals to us for punishment, not local law enforcement.

Our punishments were worse.

For those who still preferred blood and thrills from free-range sources, I instituted harsh penalties for coercion, abuse and accidental drainings. We needed to keep such incidents to a minimum.

Mickey had made an excellent example a month into my reign. Salome staked him herself, disgusted by the state of his latest human punching bag, and by his betrayal. Bill's secret database had confirmed my suspicions: Mickey had been feeding financial information about the Seven Veils to de Castro.

Fortunately for me, Salome suspected Mickey bore me a grudge and had told him nothing about my plans to evict Felipe from Amun. She was furious when I showed her proof of his disloyalty. The brutal beating of his human had provided an official explanation and his final death served as a convenient deterrent for such behaviour.

Inconvenient 'accidents' were becoming rarer. All in all, the system was working smoothly. It was all very… organised. Progress marched on and we had to adapt. If that meant dealing with irritating pen-pushers like Ms Lindenberg once a quarter, so be it. The endless forms and paperwork certainly ate up the hours.

…

The intercom on my desk squawked to life barely half an hour after I'd returned from the gala, snapping me out of downtime. Networking with the locals in the late August heat had left me craving peace. Charming the mayor was a work in progress. Agonizingly slow progress.

Geraldine's voice intruded. "Mr Northman, are you free? Miss Kingfisher is here, asking to see you."

"Send her in, Geraldine."

I was curious. Rory never came here. Either I went to hers, or we met at the clinic or Sanctum.

I hadn't seen her since Connal's temper tantrum a month ago, despite making two trips to Shreveport to see Pam. My child was still angry with me for the Tennessee débâcle. Not that she brought it up when I saw her. That suited me, but things had been tense. We stuck to official state business and I came straight back without calling on Rory as I usually did.

Rory walked in wearing a navy pant suit and a heavy silver necklace. A sensible precaution. My retinue knew she was off-limits, but this was still the lion's den. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, giving her a severe look. That unsettled me more than the silver. It wasn't… her. I had gotten used to seeing her relaxed, at ease. Perhaps this visit was official.

She looked curiously around my office and commented, "Nice place."

"Pam found a good interior designer." I was sceptical at first, but Emmett had created the sense of uncluttered space I wanted. "Sit, please."

She took a chair, crossing her legs gracefully. "I heard about Sookie. I was surprised."

Irritated, I didn't reply. No-one had brought her up for weeks, and I would rather it stayed that way.

She added, "I spoke to her, you know. That night at Sanctum."

"Good for you." Why were we still talking about her? I asked curtly, "Did you need something?"

"No time to chat, Eric?"

Annoyed by the soft look in her eyes, I gestured at my desk. "I'm busy. And you didn't come for small talk."

"If the mountain won't come to me…" She shrugged. "You didn't drop in to see me."

"I didn't realise I had to." She didn't fucking own me. "What do you want?"

She regarded me steadily for a few moments, her clear green eyes far too perspicacious for my liking. "To discuss a favour of sorts."

I raised an eyebrow and shot back, "Will you release me from your mark in return?"

It came out bluntly, with none of the usual teasing between us.

Her eyes flashed. "No. This will benefit you more than me."

"Then how it is a favour?" I snapped.

"You _are_ in a foul mood. Is that why Cataliades has had enough of you?"

That was none of her business. Fucking nosy fae. I said evenly, "He mentioned retiring."

She arched an eyebrow, as if it was obvious I was sidestepping the truth. Maybe it was, maybe they'd spoken and she knew exactly why he was quitting on me. They were both half-demons, who knew how long they'd known each other, what ties were between them. How much they gossiped about me. Like everybody else.

"Get to the point, Rory."

"Ariadne asked me to recommend a replacement to you. Sebastian Mithradates. Her cousin."

"Tell Cataliades. He's putting together a short list."

"Sebastian is a brilliant lawyer, but Cataliades is reluctant to put him forward."

She _was_ wheedling a favour, trying to bypass the lawyer. My fangs itched but I held them back. I sneered, "This is a legal matter. Why would I take your advice? Or is this the first down payment on my thanks? Is that how it is?"

Her eyes darkened and the air crackled. She stood abruptly, spearing me with a fiery glare. "I would never dishonour that gift by using it for petty interference in the running of your kingdom. Sebastian is simply the best candidate. But if you trust Cataliades to look after your interests, by all means take his advice."

She stalked to the door, but she couldn't resist a last shot. "Insult me all you want, Eric. You can't destroy what exists between us. Or ignore the woman you're trying so hard to forget."

I growled angrily, but she was out the door before I could spit out a reply. I hurled the nearest thing – a stapler – after her and it broke against the wall with a satisfying crunch.

Infuriating woman. She just had to get the last word.

And she was right, damn her. I didn't trust Cataliades over Rory, that was the fucking problem. But there was no way in hell I was going after her to ask what the fuck was going on, let alone admit I had been bad-tempered and unreasonable.

I took a minute to calm down, and then reached for the phone.

"Cataliades. How goes the short list?"

"Your majesty. I have three possible candidates for you."

"Anyone who stands out above the rest? Like, say, Mithradates?"

There was a pause. "I had discounted him, but the boy is talented. What he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in brilliance."

"You would be comfortable staying on to show him the ropes?"

Another pause.

I prompted, "Is there some friction between you?"

"No. Not at all. It… Well, to be blunt, I anticipated you and Sebastian might butt heads."

I kicked my feet up on the desk, leaned back and frowned at the ceiling. I had only met Mithradates once, and he hadn't even spoken.

"How so?" Some conflict of interest with Ariadne?

He cleared his throat. "I believe he has an… interest in Miss Kingfisher. A personal one."

Ah. I hadn't corrected his or anybody else's impression that I was involved with Rory. Personally involved. He assumed I wouldn't trust a lawyer who was a rival for her affections.

Rory _had_ wanted a favour, on behalf of a potential suitor. She was looking out for her own interests, not mine. Feeling strangely disappointed I said coldly, "I see. Did Miss Kingfisher ask you to put him forward?"

"No. I haven't spoken to Miss Kingfisher in some months." He sounded surprised, and more than a little amused. He thought I was jealous, given the next thing he said was meant to reassure me. "As far as I am aware, Miss Kingfisher isn't even aware he is carrying a torch for her, the boy is so self-contained. Sebastian told me himself, when I interviewed him."

"Ah." That was honest of Mithradates.

"He would very much like to work with you, but he felt his interest in her might… prove problematical, shall we say. He assured me he would never act on it while she was otherwise involved. But I agreed it was a potential conflict."

"If not for that, would he make the short list?"

"He would be my pick, Eric. He has the most potential. He's young, only two hundred, and modern in his outlook. He would be the best fit for what you're trying to achieve."

"Send me his details." I thought it over. "And bring him to our next meeting."

If he was curious, Cataliades kept his questions to himself, saying only, "As you wish."

I hung up and stared at the ceiling.

Our tango had given everyone the wrong idea about my relationship with Sorcha, a charade she had only engaged in because it benefited me. I had no idea if she reciprocated the half-demon's affections, but I did know her sense of honour would oblige her to fix the situation so neither the lawyer nor I missed out on what promised to be a mutually beneficial association.

Clearing up a misunderstanding to get me the better candidate was to my advantage. Not a favour for herself.

Even if she favoured the demon, it was the first time she had asked anything of me. Whereas she had aided me significantly several times: Nadia's trial, with Bartlett, with Bill.

Fuck. I'd been an asshole. I ought to apologise. My teeth gritted at the thought.

…

I met with Cataliades and Sebastian in September, and found I liked the quiet, circumspect half-demon. Sebastian didn't waste words, a trait I always valued, and he had an eye for innovative ways to use the law to my advantage. Rory was not mentioned, but the thought of that apology I owed her nagged at me. Sebastian politely bowed out early so we could discuss him.

"I think we can work together," I said, pleased.

Cataliades shut his briefcase with a snap. "He's a good choice, Eric. I'll bring him up to speed in the next month, and make myself available to him in an advisory capacity for a few more."

"Good. I think that will be all, Desmond."

"Thank you for being gracious about this, Eric."

"I won't deny I'm sorry to lose you. Your help with Alabama was invaluable. But with your reputation, no-one ever underestimates you."

He chuckled. "There is that. Sebastian is a fresh face. He has the element of surprise." He paused and peered at me. "Is… everything well with you?"

"Of course." Why wouldn't it be?

"No matter."

He bowed and I frowned after him as he left. What had he seen in my face? Goro had eyed me curiously earlier that night too, but I'd ignored it. Concerned, I slipped into my private shower-room and looked in the mirror.

I was pale. Too pale.

Shit. I hadn't fed for a fortnight. Not since the demonstration for Sally Lindenberg and that was a scant mouthful. It wasn't like I had many opportunities to feed. I had been busy, focused on the kingdom. I didn't feel particularly hungry but I heated some bagged blood from the mini-fridge and drank it quickly. That chore completed, I sat heavily behind my desk and wondered who else had noticed.

Pam and Oskar had offered me warm meals when I visited their areas. I'd brushed it aside. Because they would be female. Even here, where I could drink from a male without Pam questioning me, I hadn't fed.

That was fucking ridiculous. It was too late to rectify tonight, but starting tomorrow I would feed regularly. I couldn't afford to look weak.

…

The lone female donor was occupied when I went downstairs. Relief turned quickly to annoyance with myself.

That was becoming a familiar state. I picked the male I'd tasted a month earlier. Benjamin, a solid two hundred fifty pound wall of muscle. On a sports scholarship, I recalled vaguely. Football perhaps, given what he was watching on the big screen TV.

I followed him into the side room and sat beside him on the hard couch, ignored his offered wrist and indicated his neck. He swallowed nervously, but let me pull him towards me by his shoulders. He tensed when I licked, but I ignored his qualms and bit, feeding deeply and rapidly. He relaxed, letting out a soft moan, but tensed again when I sealed the punctures with a firm swipe of my tongue. When I pulled back I discovered he was staring at the bulge in my pants.

"Blood is all I require," I assured him, making a mental note to have Dolores remind him that reaction was automatic. Benjamin wasn't the sharpest sword in the armoury.

"It sure don't look like it," he mumbled.

I toyed with the idea. "Is that an offer?"

He stammered a reply, his accent reminding me of someone I wasn't supposed to be thinking about. I cursed internally. Covering up the urge to leave with a leer and a gesture at my lap I said, "This is not for the inexperienced. You've been with men before?"

His eyes widened. "In the showers... fooling around... but not... No."

I chuckled and adjusted myself. "Never mind then."

He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted a little, drawing my attention to his own bulge. Ah. I'd misinterpreted his nervousness. He was uncertain, not uninterested.

"I… If you want I could–"

I cut him off, possessing neither the desire nor the patience to guide a fumbling innocent out of the closet he was lost in. "I have a meeting."

"I get it. You don't do black guys," he said sullenly, sensing the dismissal for what it was. "But you picked Gloria and she's…. Dolores said y'all are flexible. I thought you wouldn't care."

"I don't." I didn't point out that Gloria had only ever fed me, or the very obvious fact that she was a woman.

"Oh. Okay then," he mumbled, looking sheepish.

I followed him back into the lounge and motioned Dolores into her office with me, closing the door. "Benjamin. Five ounces. And an insight into why he's here."

Dolores made a note of the blood – she kept track, Benjamin would have a fortnight off after that quantity – and asked, "Was I right, earning extra cash to buy grades?"

Dolores liked to know what motivated her charges but Benjamin had frustrated her. He claimed he'd applied on a dare, and stayed when he realised he could earn good money. She didn't believe a word of that, but she assessed him as dim and harmless. And we didn't have a lot of donors his size.

"Our linebacker signed up to explore his sexuality." In a situation where he could renounce responsibility, pretend he'd been overwhelmed by our famously seductive allure.

"I knew there was something," Dolores said, shaking her head. "Kid has a hard row to hoe in his career."

"Make sure no-one exploits his desire to experiment."

"Wilco."

"Don't tell Goro. He'll eat him alive."

She laughed heartily at that.

…

A fortnight later I met with my two oldest sheriffs in the Mausoleum, as Oskar had officially named his offices. He'd even put up a sign for the tourists.

After we'd finished the agenda Neb, in his quiet way, asked us to watch a recording of a chat show that had aired earlier that week. It was an odd request from the Egyptian. I was intrigued. The debate was crudely captioned: _Wolf in sheep's clothing or Man's best friend?_ It went downhill from there, starting as a semi-rational debate and ending in a near mass brawl.

Oskar snorted as the credits rolled. "I see why they call it trash TV."

I couldn't dismiss it so lightly. Neb hadn't brought it to our attention so we could comment on the abysmal quality of the show. "Who told you about this, Neb?"

"Mattias's second, Beth. The wolf who was no fan of the traitorous tiger. You were right about her."

"A good ally?"

"Yes, and a clever one. She has her eye on the future. It is often that way with women once they have children. Even wolves."

Oskar interjected, "It's the pack first with them, cubs or not. Wolves are all short-sighted."

Neb answered mildly, "Personally, I have no grudge against our furred friends. I might feel otherwise if I had survived the Purges. But times change."

He didn't belabour the point.

The Purges that swept Europe in the thirteenth century, one of the darkest periods of our history, had been one of the most convincing arguments against the Revelation. They were clandestine vampire hunts, carried out under cover of the Inquisitions by a secret order of Black Friars who called themselves, ironically, the Hounds of God.

There were no shapeshifters amongst their number, but their hunts were guided by witches high up in the church of Rome. Witches with a grudge against vampires. Piggybacking on official Inquisitions against so-called heretics, the Hounds scoured large tracts of southern France, Spain and northern Italy for our kind, staking and burning whoever they found.

When later Inquisitions turned to witch-hunting, there was a certain schadenfreude in it.

In those times of fear and hysteria, shapeshifters who were exposed to the humans faced certain torture and a brutal death. Many packs betrayed vampires they had sworn to guard to the Hounds, rather than go down with them. Oskar had been forced to flee too many times. I had a narrow escape or three myself.

After the Purges most vampires considered wolf packs traitorous scum. It wasn't a stretch for vampires of our age to imagine packs turning on us again to protect themselves from human zealots. Especially once organisations like the Fellowship blossomed into existence.

Neb was saying, in his careful way, that if we couldn't put aside that bloody past, the closer ties we were forging with the packs were meaningless. He had a point, but it didn't make letting go of centuries of justifiable prejudice any easier. Shapeshifters weren't all traitorous, but the stench of bad apples lingered down the centuries.

I sat back, thinking over the programme we had just watched.

Since the Reveal, scientists were desperate to investigate shapeshifter biology, to find out if their strength and rapid healing could be harnessed for medical and other purposes. Serious newspapers had speculated on everything from shapeshifters providing cures for cancer to them being a route for deadly animal diseases to jump species, breed new plagues.

The audience on the chat show was more rabid. Twoeys should be micro-chipped. Not allowed near children. Forcibly tested for rabies. Muzzled. Neutered if they refused to register.

Fools. Fear of that sort of response was what kept them from registering in the first place.

I gestured at the blank screen. "You think these few rabble-rousers are significant?"

Neb nodded. "A spark is enough to light a powder keg. And Beth told me this is part of a broader trend. I have collated some other examples." He handed me a flash drive. "It appears to be disparate individuals, but there maybe a guiding hand."

"The Chosen?"

"Perhaps. There are other suspects. The more outrageous ideas humans hear, the more accepting they become of moderate change."

That gave me pause. "Someone with a political agenda, then. Not the extremists. That is not good."

Oskar scowled. "Who cares. Are our fortunes that tightly bound to those of the shapeshifters?"

I pointed out, "Any laws brought in against the two-natured can be easily extended to us."

"Very easily," Neb said. "Share this with Bartlett, Eric. He has other sources. He might spot a pattern."

I raised an eyebrow at Oskar and he shook his head. Neither of us had told Neb I shared information with Bartlett. When I looked at the Egyptian, he was faintly amused.

"I have known the Crow for longer than you have lived."

Really. How much longer? Neb was old enough to have known Bartlett before he turned. He could confirm what I suspected about Bartlett's origins, but only if his loyalty to me was greater than any tie between them. I didn't fancy testing that. Not yet. It might reveal my hand to soon.

"It seems Bartlett's web extends further than I supposed," I said nonchalantly. Oskar barked a laugh at my bluntness.

Neb shook his head, smiling. "Bartlett encouraged me to support you, it is true, but I don't report to him. I took the post because you are a king I can support, and your agenda is a sensible one."

I regarded him silently, unsure whether that was enough.

He shrugged. "You and Bartlett are on the same side. And Mississippi and Texas, I assume?"

I nodded.

"Good. There is strength in numbers. You are wise to make allies where you can." Hearing my continued reservations in my silence, he added, "It is also wise to keep your child close. You have been fair to Salome over the years."

I blinked at the implication.

He was her maker? Salome told me when we first met that no man commanded her and I assumed her maker was female. Neither of them had ever acknowledged their relationship. That he did so now relieved some of my doubts. Except…

"Mickey," I said.

"A mistake. One who would have been better left as human. I should thank you for giving her a reason end him."

"Ah."

He smiled. "Daughters are always trouble. But you didn't hear that from me."

I smirked, agreeing. Oskar, predictably, did not.

…

After a lengthy conference call to Bartlett and Stan about the trouble brewing for the shapeshifters, I had a lot on my mind. September flew by.

I had little interest in the donors, but I forced myself to pick females in an effort to desensitise myself to the inevitable reminders of Sookie that came with their warmth. Only taking blood from them, I buried myself in the minutiae of running a state rather than their bodies. When I needed to silence my mind I practised kata in the empty dojo. When I needed to burn off frustration I sparred with the wolves or Goro.

An unscheduled turning demanded my attention at the start of October, delaying a planned trip to Shreveport which I'd already put off once. The maker was young, too young to raise a newborn without incident. And worse, happened to be one of my guards. The youngest, most insignificant guard, more of a dogsbody, but still. It reflected badly on me.

Turning currently required permission from me or a sheriff, as a surfeit of newborns would do us no favours with the BSA. This particular turning would have been denied because of the maker's inexperience, the human's youth and the lack of discipline in both.

I did, however, allow some accidental or emergency turnings to stand on a case by case basis. Provided we were notified immediately and the maker agreed to my terms.

The maker in this case had thrown herself on my mercy as soon as the callow youth of nineteen had risen. Her story was that they had exchanged blood – that alone told me she was impulsive as he was so young – and when he subsequently had a skin full and wrapped his expensive sports car around a tree she felt his pain, rushed to his side and gave him blood to heal, not intending to turn him.

She was lucky there was supporting evidence. Although pictures of the crumpled shell of his burnt out car did little to convince me he had the survival skills he would need as a vampire.

He was a liability but ending him would bring complications. His parents, his moderately rich well-connected parents, suspected he had been turned. His body was missing and they knew he was involved with a vampire. They said as much to the police, so covering it up was not a simple matter.

Reluctantly I agreed to let him live. On the condition that his maker submitted to whichever older vampire I assigned to mentor her and the newborn – her own maker was finally dead. Until then they were to stay at the house.

His family were told what had happened and, in return for their agreement not to make waves, they would be allowed to see him once he was more than a mindless pair of fangs. That might take a while. When he heard he would be 'forced' to spend time with the couple who raised him, who were devastated by his disappearance, he had a petulant tantrum and smashed up his room.

It was hard to believe he was the same age as Pam was when I turned her.

After two stressful nights co-existing with a very temperamental newborn and a maker too hesitant to use her power to command him, I was ready to stake them both.

Oskar called in the nick of time. Milena, who had been looking for a way to prove her loyalty since her offer to hunt the tiger had been declined, was on her way to take the annoyance off my hands. The pair would be better off in New Orleans anyway. The police force was better equipped to handle newborns and the city was more tolerant of them.

Milena was just what the fractious pair needed. Within ten minutes of her arrival, she had a stake to the newborn's chest, and was demanding a blood exchange with the maker so she would have influence over both her charges, proving to me she wouldn't take any shit. I was quite happy to enforce her requirements and even more so to see the back of them.

I had barely pressed my grateful ass into my chair when Pam called.

She had a problem and needed to see me at once. It was too late to reach Shreveport. I re-arranged my schedule for the third time that week and set off the following sunset. When I arrived at Fangtasia, Pam was in foul temper, further darkening my mood.

Maxwell and Indira were waiting in her office. Just wonderful. Police and press were involved in whatever screw-up had Pam so pissed.

My Area Investigators – and in Area 5, that was Maxwell – were expected to liaise closely with local law enforcement. That went both ways: offering assistance with vampire-perpetrated crime, and reporting drainers and attacks on vampires. I also expected my sheriffs to appoint someone to handle public relations, issue press releases and the like. Indira had a way with words and was Pam's choice.

The problem, Pam explained, was a murder in Bossier City. The victim, a human pastor of the fire and brimstone variety, had links to the Fellowship. Normally we would be quietly pleased about his death, but he died violently, in suspicious circumstances. Pam's old contact at Shreveport PD had called Maxwell to the scene once he clapped eyes on the body.

The pastor's throat had been torn out and he had been stabbed and bitten many times.

Not by vampires.

Maxwell had pictures. We all agreed the bites, distinctly animal in nature, meant a two-natured culprit. Or several of them.

The police had no clue to the actual murder site – the unlucky pastor had been dropped on his own front lawn, at night, from an as yet untraced vehicle driving at speed. So no chance of an ectoplasmic reconstruction. And no scent to follow: the naked corpse had been soaked in disinfectant, lending credence to a culprit or culprits well-versed in both human and supernatural investigation techniques.

Maxwell had called Indira in because not all of Shreveport's finest welcomed his involvement. One of the detectives complained that Maxwell had access to the crime scene, insinuating he might tamper with the evidence. Kim Rowe was mentioned. There was still speculation that I was to blame for her death and had wriggled out of the consequences. Indira was concerned that the disgruntled detective might leak the bite marks on the corpse to the press, and drop Rowe's name, hoping they would scream vampire and whitewash.

Pam was furious that they might drag my name through the mud, but I was more concerned the press might cry wolf.

The two-natured were not equipped to deal with the fallout.

No surprise there. Eight years after the Revelation and we were just learning how to turn public opinion our way some of the time. It was an unruly beast to steer. The shapeshifters had no hope of controlling it when they were still relatively disorganised.

However, what really rang alarm bells in my head was the similarity to another murder. One Stan had mentioned. In Houston, during that mess with the Chosen, Tooth 'n Claw and the FBI.

One of the human fundamentalists had been strung up in a tree, naked and mutilated. No bites, but the same lack of forensic evidence, the same careful covering of their tracks. The same message writ large in blood: Mess with the two-natured, die horribly.

The gutter press would have a field day if they linked the cases and caught a whiff of that.

I told Indira to do what damage limitation she could, for fang and fur. Maxwell gave me a copy of his files and promised to keep me updated. He didn't hold out much hope of finding the killer.

Once they left, I sprawled on the couch and asked Pam, who was leaning against her desk, if she'd spoken to Herveaux. She let rip a string of curses.

"He wouldn't countenance any of his pack being involved. Fucking arrogant jackass. Insisted it must be a lone wolf and then had the gall to accuse me of covering up for Mark, as if he would ever–" She stopped abruptly.

"Mark?"

"Shit," she muttered, her shoulders slumping. "Remember that lover I took to get over Miriam?"

I frowned. "He's a lone wolf?" That was... None of my business. I clamped down on my distaste as soon as I picked up her rising defensiveness.

"Yes. A wolf," she said stiffly. "He runs a shooting range. Ex-marine, a sharpshooter."

"Did you check him for fleas?" I said teasingly, keeping my feelings light.

She groaned, but felt relieved. "This is why I don't tell you these things."

"Payback's a bitch." I could get some mileage out of this. "Oh, were you his bitch? Or did you get him a collar, put him on a leash?"

She glared at me, but only for show. "Shut up."

"I don't think so." Not after all teasing I had endured from her. Not when she'd forgotten she was angry with me for the moment. To be perfectly frank I was extremely glad of that; there was a reason I'd put off visiting. I smirked at her. "Did you do it doggy-style?"

She shook her head sadly. "Lame. My maker is so lame. That joke is as old as you. Can't you think of anything original? And he's a wolf, not a dog." She added with a leer, "A very big wolf. Proportionate too."

"Is there a wolf-style? Wait a minute." I pretended to think, and continued with relish, "I remember now. Wolves lock together after mating. That must have been awkward. You're not one for post-coital snuggling, as I recall."

"Fuck my undeath," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough to be sure I'd hear it.

"Unless you really liked this Mark. Tell me, was there romance? Did you howl at the moon together on long winter nights?"

She rolled her eyes at me. Then she grinned. "I might have chased him through the woods once or twice. That was worth wrecking a pair of pumps."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. They get very riled up in their natural habitat."

She said it with a straight face, but after a second we both burst out laughing.

At least we could put the tension aside long enough for that. I needed it, there had been precious little laughter in the last month. Unfortunately, the mood turned sombre again once I told her about the Houston murder.

"You think we might have a rogue wolf, out for revenge?" she asked, pensively.

"Perhaps. Joseph suspected the Houston victim was connected to that house fire." The late unlamented Joseph, whose dossier on the Chosen had not been as helpful as I first thought.

"The human deserved what he got then," she said coldly. She had seen the aftermath of a house fire when she was human, and it had given her a lingering distaste for them. Especially as we could be killed that way just as effectively as humans.

"Shall I speak to Stan, find out what he knows?" she offered.

"Yes. I'll speak to Russell, see if he's had anything similar. And Rita." I side-eyed her. "Are you still fucking Stan?"

She shrugged. "On and off. Are you seeing Rory tonight?"

"Wasn't planning to." I was in no hurry to face her after our spat.

"Trouble in paradise?" Pam asked lightly.

I lifted my head off the couch to look at her. "Pam. We're not fucking."

She was disappointed about that, but she covered it. "I don't suppose she was lying about not swinging my way, was she?"

"You're welcome to take a shot, but don't expect any sympathy when she fries your ass."

She chuckled. "She is pleasantly feisty, isn't she?"

I decided it was time to leave before she extolled more of Rory's virtues. She could be pitifully obvious sometimes, and the hard sell was beginning to piss me off.

It wasn't happening.

And I was beginning to wonder if Pam knew something I didn't. She and Rory talked.

If Rory wanted more than I could offer… I didn't relish the idea of disappointing her. Ever since we shared our histories, I felt intensely protective towards her. So much so that I'd been tempted to ask Sebastian what his intentions were.

Rory would definitely roast my ass if I did and she ever found out.

Hm. But if I let the half-demon know I wasn't standing in his way… He would distract her from me, and it would make up for me being an asshole. Two birds, one demon. Win-win.

And I wouldn't actually have to apologise to her.


	18. Free Fall

Hi all. Thanks for the reviews, especially Jackie69, Sandy/Citygirl and all the guests. I appreciate them all.

Well, here we go.

* * *

**Free Fall**

* * *

_Pride goes before a fall._

That never made sense to me. It was ass-backwards. Pride goes _after_ you're on the floor, bloody and broken, thirsting for blood to heal.

Some of us couldn't let go of it even then.

Not even after plummeting to the ground and smacking into the unyielding truth.

…

Neither Russell nor Rita had stumbled over anything like our friend the pastor.

Russell appreciated the warning, promising to let me know if any corpses turned up looking like chew-toys. Rita was lukewarm. She had taken Stan's offer of independence seriously and hadn't thrown her lot in with us. Three of her five neighbours – Texas, Louisiana and Mississippi – co-operating so closely was probably intimidating. We were letting her come to us, rather than back her into a corner.

Personally, I wasn't convinced she fitted in any better than Joseph would have.

After speaking to Rita, I was due to feed. It had bothered me that I wasn't fucking any of my meals. I didn't hunger for their bodies any more than I did for their blood, even the females. It had been months since I'd been with anyone.

Variety wasn't the problem. I was careful not to use the same donor twice: kings – or the boss, as the donors thought of me – shouldn't play favourites. Ultimately, I decided I was a victim of my own protocols. There were cameras in the feeding rooms and the rules kept everything safe, tame. The encounters lacked thrill.

Nonetheless, I forced myself back into the saddle a week earlier. If I was more comfortable with the males, so be it. What did it matter which gender was on their knees sucking my cock. It was quick, efficient, and tonight's experience was as unremarkable as the previous occasion.

Until Ms Lindenberg arrived for an unscheduled spot-check just as I was emerging from the room, in time to overhear the donor complimenting the flavour of my… deposit.

She asked – or rather demanded in a voice strident with barely restrained excitement – to speak to him alone. She took him back into the feeding room, as if I wouldn't hear her cajoling him to admit he'd been coerced through the door. I almost interrupted when she began threatening him, but the string of curses she got in reply stayed my hand. He wasn't caving.

She strode out of the room, mouth set in a grim line. I opened my mouth to speak but she waltzed straight past me, towards Dolores' office. I resisted the urge to put a hole in the wall. Dolores, already standing in her doorway, waited for my nod before she stepped aside and let Ms Lindenberg enter.

The donor shook his head beside me and called Ms Lindenberg some choice names under his breath.

Dolores' office was soundproofed to human ears, but not mine. I could hear Lindenberg accusing Dolores of allowing her charges to be abused. She threatened a full-scale investigation and jail time for Dolores unless she admitted everything. Dolores kept her voice controlled as she replied, "Be my guest, Ms Lindenberg. We have nothing to hide."

Goro arrived during the altercation. He asked quietly in German if I wanted him to glamour the problem away. I shook my head.

That was out of the question. America was finally waking up to that handy ability of ours. Too many vampires were as sloppy as Longshadow had been with Ginger. Inevitably, our legendary ability to 'mesmerise' had become a widely known secret.

There were rumours, credible rumours, that the FBI had developed a way to counter glamour, and worse, to detect when it had been used. So far the government appeared to be relying on education and the rule of law to protect the majority of their agents. Statutes had been hurriedly amended, creating harsh penalties for interfering with state and federal officials in pursuit of their duties. A vampire in Rhode Island of all places was currently awaiting trial for obstructing police. The cretin had glamoured a traffic cop to get out of a ticket without realising the patrol car had a camera recording the whole thing.

Naturally, interfering with BSA agents carried the stiffest penalty, and they were more likely to realise their mind had been altered than a traffic cop. Glamouring one was imprudent in the extreme – nothing would create a bigger media disaster. Fortunately I had another way to deal with Lindenberg, who was still arguing with Dolores. I spoke to the donor briefly, confirming his co-operation, and strode into the office with him in tow.

"Mr Northman you can't be in here," Lindenberg said loudly. "You're interfering in my investigation,"

I commandeered the laptop on Dolores desk without a word, ignoring the urge to snap Ms Lindenberg's neck.

"Bitch gonna get hers," the donor muttered.

"Watch your language Larry," Dolores said sharply.

He said defiantly, "Screw being polite to her. I don't know or care whether she hates gays, or fangs, or good-looking half-Asian guys like me; she's a bigoted bitch."

"I demand that you leave at once," insisted the bitch in question, a touch of hysteria entering her tone.

Ignoring her protest I turned to the donor, pleased that Dolores had reminded me of his name. "Larry, you waive your right to privacy?"

"Yes sir. Play the damn video." He winked at Dolores.

I turned the laptop round. Ms Lindenberg's eyes widened as proof that Larry had been entirely willing to get up close and personal with me played out before her eyes. When the footage ran on to her conversation with him, she blanched and her heart began to race. We got to the juicy part and her voice echoed through the speakers, tinny but clear.

"I can make things difficult for you, boy. With your professors. Your parents. Traditional, are they? You got great grades in school. I bet they're really pushy. I bet they expect you to marry a nice little Asian chick. They'll be devastated to find out what you do with guys." The camera had captured her sneer perfectly. "What you like to do with your mouth."

I stopped the recording.

"Ms Lindenberg," I said. "One of us did threaten this man tonight, but it wasn't me."

"Hell no," Larry agreed. "You picked on the wrong guy. Know my professors, my skinny yellow ass. I'm pre-law and we got the makings of a discrimination case right there. You want me to testify against her, y'all let me know where and when."

Ms Lindenberg went red, and spluttered indignantly. "Mr Northman, are these young men and women aware that you're recording them?"

"Oh yes," I said with satisfaction.

"The waivers are right here," Dolores said, pulling open a drawer in her filing cabinet. "Filed alphabetically."

Larry interjected, "Yeah, that recording is one hundred percent admissible. These guys weren't turned yesterday."

I suppressed a smile. "Larry, thank you for your help."

"Any time, Mr Northman." Smart boy took the hint, nodded politely to me and Dolores, pointedly snubbing the BSA rep as he left.

"Ms Lindenberg." I stepped closer, allowing my fangs to make an appearance and letting a hint of my fury to colour my voice. "Sally. First names seem appropriate now you have seen... more of me, don't you think?"

She swallowed, but held her ground.

"I will let this go, just this once, but you will not harass my staff again," I said firmly. "If you do, I will file a complaint." I gestured at the laptop. "With evidence. You should be less quick to jump to conclusions."

Her lip curled. "That's blackmail!"

"No. It is a second chance. Assuming this was not malicious, that you merely erred in your zeal to do your duty. I am fair. I can forgive one such mistake. You can be fairtoo, Sally. That is all I expect."

And if she accused me of blackmail, this room had a camera, too.

Besides, the lady protests too much. She was ambitious. This would not be the first time she bent the rules to get ahead. Threatening Larry stank of desperation: she was hunting for violations to crawl up her boss's ass, chasing that promotion.

Worrying, but she would have to toe the line now. My line.

"So Sally," I lingered on her name. "Shall we put this behind us? If you cannot, I am sure there are others–"

She snapped, "Yes. I'll let this go. But I won't turn a blind eye."

"You won't need to," Dolores said tartly. "Everything is above board."

Ms Lindenberg looked like she wanted to disagree, but she held her tongue, turned on her heel and beat a hasty retreat.

Dolores muttered after her, "And take that stick up your ass with you."

Gesturing at the laptop I said, "Get me a copy of that. And give that boy a bonus."

"Wilco." She shook her head. "Better you than one of the younger ones. One of them might have snapped her scrawny neck. Lord knows, I was tempted to punch her in the mouth."

"This way is better."

It gave me something over our _lovely_ BSA rep.

Even if it was won at the expense of exercising considerable restraint, and an invasion of my privacy that left me seething. I stalked out of the house. Goro read my mood and followed me wordlessly out to the dojo.

...

My black mood finally lifted a week later, as Baton Rouge dwindled in the rear view mirror.

Goro was driving the Brick, as I affectionately called the Chrysler limo I'd chosen for its extended wheel base and extra legroom. The back seat was currently papered with printouts detailing revenue streams from Area 4 over the last decade. Rasul was handling the small vampire population competently, but I anticipated he would get bored eventually, out in the sticks. It would be easy to find a replacement when he did, but so far he seemed content to run his area in peace.

I respected that.

We met in his office, situated in a small strip mall above two vampire-owned businesses, a 24-hour dry cleaner's and a locksmith's. Rasul hesitated when we came through the door, as if he expected more arrivals. When no-one else appeared, he bowed gracefully.

"Your Majesty. Takahashi."

"Sheriff," I nodded.

Goro nodded and silently took up a position by the door. Rasul and I got straight down to business. A couple of hours later, I packed away my laptop as Rasul watched pensively.

"Think it over," I said. I had offered to put some capital into a wholesale business he wanted to start up. "I won't be offended if you find another backer. Let me know by next week."

"I will. Thank you, Eric." His voice hardened. "You'll being seeing Francine once I have proof she has been withholding tithes."

I smirked. Going through those figures had been worth it. "Good. Let me know if there's any problems."

Outside, I sent Goro home with the car. He was disgruntled, but he didn't argue. He had accepted he couldn't stop me travelling without an escort. Once the Brick had disappeared into the night I took to the air, enjoying the solitude and the prospect of time to myself.

Dawn was three hours away. Alexandria had one vampire friendly hotel, open twenty-four hours. Vampire friendly as in it was clean, the bathrooms had no windows, and the desk staff didn't ask questions. Cheap too. Not the sort of place anyone would expect to find a king. I checked in under an assumed name and paid cash. The room was adequate. I took a shower, the hot spray relaxing me. There was a knock on the door just as I came out of the bathroom.

The agency girl, right on time.

I used the same false name with them. If the donor was surprised that the 'Jacob Goldberg' who opened the door was tall, Nordic and blonde she hid it well. I ordered 'exotic' and was pleased by the dark-haired girl before me. Slender, delicate features, dark almond-shaped eyes turned demurely towards the floor. Vietnamese ancestry perhaps. The modesty and obedience were an act to please customers, but one I was happy to play along with. No reminders.

Her blood was warm. Her hands and mouth proved sufficiently skilled.

She asked, still on her knees and breathless, if I wanted more. I told myself as I tipped her generously that I turned her down only because it was too risky to rest in the hotel. Not because I lacked any real desire for her.

I flew back to Baton Rouge. A mix of irritation and frustration filled me when I landed on the roof. I didn't recognise the knot of dread that accompanied it until six nights later.

…

I was at my desk, back from spending the day at Oskar's after a long night settling disputes from all over the state. I held court once a month in New Orleans where we had bigger holding facilities.

The cases were routine, but I had to stake an out of control newborn who'd left three humans in critical condition. A waste, but I didn't have the leeway to give newborns time to gain control these days. Not if they had no family to miss them, or, as in this case, the family was dirt poor and could be bought off.

Our current situation favoured the rich and influential who rose spoilt and entitled, like Milena's charge. Pondering bleakly what that meant for the future of my kind, I toyed with the heavy gold seal of office. A fleck of blood marred its face. Frowning, I scraped it off with my thumbnail and made a mental note to have it cleaned before my accession ceremony. The Amun council had been confident I would see out my dangerous first year, suggesting it could wait until the summit. Pam was already planning my outfit around blue and white, the state colours.

Receiving the seal back in March had been an anti-climax. I had almost barked out a laugh at Pam's outraged expression when she saw what I was lifting out of the shredded paper.

"Felipe sent the state seal by snail mail?" she fumed, glaring at the box I had just torn open.

I shrugged. "I had to sign for it. If it had gotten lost in transit, it would have cost him. What does it matter?"

She stared at me in unblinking horror for a long moment, before biting out, "It's an insult, Eric."

"And petty insults are all de Castro has left," I pointed out with barely disguised glee.

It had taken a week for the seal to arrive after Felipe conceded. I couldn't care less. For me the real prize was Felipe's expression when he saw me in Teresa's office, splattered in the blood of his crumbling empire. That was worth more than a hundred gold seals.

The phone rang, interrupting my trip down memory lane. Isabel, from the caller ID.

"Eric."

"Isabel, this is unexpected."

"But welcome, I hope."

"That depends on why you called."

"Oh, you will be pleased I think. I've sent you a gift. Call it an early Halloween present."

"What sort of gift?"

"Jean-Luc is in your lobby with it. It's yours to do with what you will. You may thank me the next time we speak."

The phone went dead just as the intercom buzzed.

Jean-Luc was indeed in the lobby, chatting to Goro. "Ah, your majesty," he said giving me a graceful bow. "We were just debating the merits of savate versus jujitsu. Care for a wager?"

Goro snorted. "This gaijin is too cowardly to engage in a sword fight with me."

I raised an eyebrow at the French vampire. "You know my second?"

Jean-Luc grinned. "Isabel_ knew_ Raisa, rather well."

Goro said calmly, "I will not go easy on you because my maker and yours were lovers."

"Don't end him, Goro," I said seriously. "Isabel is fond of her court jester."

Jean-Luc mock-gasped and clutched his chest. "Eric, your lack of faith wounds me."

"Be sure to clean up the mess if it goes pear-shaped," I said to my second, grinning. I'd seen them both fight. Goro was going to kick his ass. "Jean-Luc, I hear you have a gift for me."

Jean-Luc side-stepped and flourished an arm towards a figure sitting on a couch set out of the way, to the side of the staircase, in a dark alcove.

The couch and the two identical ones sitting in pride of place opposite the reception desk were a gift from Pam – Queen Ann style antiques that she'd had re-upholstered in blue and white, and embroidered in gold with the state emblem. When I pointed out the lobby would be the first place bathed in blood if we were attacked, she waved away my concerns, saying it was also where first impressions were made and it needed to look regal.

I let her have that one.

Tonight it was the hooded figure in silver shackles and an orange jumpsuit that had my attention, not Pam's choice in décor. I inhaled discreetly. A wave of memories, none of them good, came with the scent, stirring up echoes of irritation, frustration and that same dread I'd felt returning to my residence.

Oklahoma. It felt like Oklahoma. My residence conjured up an identical knot in the pit of my belly. Pushing that unwelcome discovery aside I said grimly, "Bring her."

Geraldine gasped quietly when the hooded figure shuffled into view. I stopped at her desk and waved Jean-Luc into my office with his prisoner.

"Geraldine, no interruptions for the next hour."

She stared after Jean-Luc, then shook herself. "Yes, Mr Northman. Do you need anything else?"

"No. You may leave now if you wish."

She straightened and looked me in the eye. "Mr Northman, I married a Navy Seal. I know when not to ask questions."

"You may witness things you do not want to remember." It was what I'd told her when I interviewed her.

"No glamour," she warned, repeating her reply at the time, a condition to which I'd agreed. No-one wanted a PA with holes in her brain. "I'm a big girl. I know things are rarely as black and white as they seem."

"I may kill her." That was as black and white as it came.

Her eyes narrowed. "_May_. You're withholding judgement. What happens depends on her, then?"

"Yes."

Astonishingly, she smiled a little. "Well then, we both have work to do."

I watched for a moment longer as she busied herself with her in-tray. She said she was curious about vampires when we met, but I was sure she would balk at the darker side of our world.

I may have been wrong.

Never underestimate a woman's will, my father used to say. My human father. Something I had reason to recall many times in recent years, because of another stubborn woman. I buried that thought and went to unwrap my gift.

Jean-Luc had already removed the hood and cuffs. I shot him a querying look.

"These were just a precaution. Isabel was willing to accept her fealty, but she asked to be brought to you once she was healed."

That was... odd.

He added blithely, "Nobody knows she's here."

No comeback if I ended her. I dismissed him and sat behind my desk to examine my 'gift '. She didn't flinch under my stare.

Isabel had sentenced her to a year's imprisonment for her part in Nadia's plot, commuted to nine months for injuries received in the battle for Oklahoma, I assumed. Underneath her death-paled olive skin, her face was flushed with recent feeding. Her black hair was glossy, all signs of starvation smoothed away. But the skin of her left hand was pink, the fingertips still missing. Recently regrown.

Isabel was old-school and hadn't let her heal until the sentence was complete. The sentence had been merciful, though, because of her youth. A painful slap on the wrist rather than final death for Nadia's little spy, the dusky Iranian who spoke many languages. Possibly the last remnant of Nadia's bloodline.

"Yasmin."

Immediately, she bowed in her chair. "Your majesty."

I didn't know much about the vampire before me. What little time I'd spent around her in Oklahoma she had been playing a part. Why had she come to me? Vengeance was the obvious explanation, but it didn't make sense.

"Why not swear fealty to Isabel? She is a fair queen."

"I didn't want to stay in Oklahoma." A cloud passed behind her eyes. "You of all vampires will understand that."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow. Nine months without a hand didn't warrant a comparison to my experience in Oklahoma. I wasn't impressed by that or what it said about her fortitude.

"Why come here?" I asked harshly.

She blinked. Uncertainly she said, "Because you and I both... I hoped for mercy." Her eyes round and wide, she appealed softly, "I have nowhere else to go."

I opened a drawer, took out a stake and laid it on the desk in front of me.

"You came to die."

"No!" Her fangs snapped down in fear, but she didn't move. After a second of struggle, she retracted them and lifted her chin. "I came to serve you."

Determination was more promising than her earlier display of meekness. Meek vampires were little use to anyone.

"Why?"

She paused, then spoke rapidly, from the heart I judged. "To make amends for what Nadia commanded me to do. Good deeds to cleanse the bad, hold back the chaos. It is what I believe."

"You are vampire," I pointed out. "Not a saint."

Her mouth twisted. She admitted bitterly, "And to spite Nadia. I admit that." A more believable motive, if she truly hated her maker. She added, "That she-devil prevented me reuniting with my fravashi."

"Fravashi?" I didn't know the word.

"A guardian spirit that meets the soul four days after death."

"You were not Muslim, like Nadia?"

"I follow Zoroaster. An older faith," she said with noticeable pride. "There are not many of us left."

"I do not know it." Tariq, her grand-sire, would have. He was a knowledgeable man. The thought that she was also the last of _his_ blood tipped me towards leniency, but I still picked up the stake. "You do not seek death, then, to be reunited with this guardian?"

"No. I am not ready to die."

She was firm on that, at least. "How do you propose to serve me?"

She dropped her eyes from mine. "I will do anything you require."

Back to meek. I snorted. "A lie. Try again."

"I... could warm your bed."

"I doubt that. Your blood is cold." The flicker of fear in her eyes was hardly enticing, either. I toyed with the stake. "What else?"

"I was a translator in life." She squared her shoulders. "I could be your ears."

Finally she was thinking like a vampire, but spies were ten a penny and her loyalty was already suspect… However, there was something only she could offer. If I could trust her.

I strode round the desk, stake loose in my hand. She tensed, but held still as I stopped beside her, even when my fangs clicked down. Encouraging. She would need steady nerves for what I had in mind. I pressed my finger against a fang and held it out. A swelling drop of dark blood glistened on the tip.

"Drink," I commanded.

She leant forward slowly, extending her tongue to lick up the droplet. She shivered as she swallowed. I moved back to lean against the desk, facing her with my arms folded as my blood took affect. She was swirl of fear and anxiety.

"Tell me what you knew of your maker's plans."

A burst of dread, hatred, and then determination.

"Not a lot. In Oklahoma I was to watch and listen, report everything I saw, especially how Freyda was behaving. I was to stay away from you – Nadia said you were dangerous. I knew she had plans for Freyda but they only became clear to me after I had overheard enough of their conversations to piece it together." She met my eyes. "Nadia commanded me never to reveal any of it."

"Naturally," I said drily.

"Someone found out, though." She felt uncertain. "Did I give something away?"

"No." Only through the bug I'd planted.

"I didn't think so." She felt relief – did that indicate loyalty to her maker? – but that was quickly overtaken by a surge of terror.

Did she think she had given herself away? Was this an elaborate ploy to win my favour, take revenge somehow? I stared intensely at her.

Her terror dulled, and she rubbed her wrist absently, speaking in a monotone. "Nadia was certain I had betrayed her. After Freyda put you in chains, Nadia spent three nights… testing my loyalty. She suspected I had broken her command somehow, warned you."

Ah. We had both suffered Nadia's sadistic attentions. That shed some light on her earlier comment about Oklahoma, making it less offensive. I said evenly, "I did not know. It is hard to torture a child."

She felt a muddle of black hate, helplessness and despair. "Not if the maker _enjoys_ feeling your pain."

I understood that well enough. And now, I recognised her emotions from my experiences with Ocella. Her reactions weren't contradictory. They were genuine, true. Before I could say anything else, she raised her chin and her feelings fell away abruptly, evaporating like mist before the sun. I almost dropped the stake in shock.

"Stop that," I said harshly, lunging forward, my face inches away from hers, fangs down and stake at the ready.

She blinked. "What? Stop what?"

I felt her shock faintly. Very faintly. The connection between us was muted, frozen.

My mind leapt quickly, landing sure-footed on the answer: she had hidden her feelings from my blood, hidden them as I'd learnt to hide mine from Ocella.

As Pam and Karin had never had to do from me. I had never felt it as a maker, from the other side.

I demanded, "Let me in. Let me feel you."

Her eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed. The connection thawed rapidly, filling with her awe, astonishment and a hint of pride. "I apologise," she said softly. "I didn't realise it would–"

"Work on me as it worked on Nadia?" I finished, stepping back.

She grimaced. "It didn't. Not quite. That was what made her suspect me."

"You did it too quickly. It must be subtle to fool a maker." As soon as the words were out, I cursed myself for saying too much.

She gasped, reminding me she was fifty years undead. "How do you know that? Did Nadia feed you her blood when she–"

I growled, cutting her off. I was not about to discuss where I learnt that. It certainly wasn't during Nadia's torture. Yasmin bowed her head submissively.

"Tell me of your turning," I demanded sternly.

"Nadia stole me from my family, my husband and my child."

Her eyes stormy, she related her violent death, her rising and subsequent rape and abuse at Nadia's hands. I monitored her emotions throughout. Grief, disgust, horror – all blood-curdling reminders of my own turning. There was no question in my mind: she hated Nadia with a passion.

Of course, that didn't make her loyal to me. Thoughtful, I tapped the stake against my thigh and asked, "Any blood siblings?"

"The last was too weak to survive, Nadia said."

"Too weak to survive Nadia."

Yasmin nodded absently, not reacting to my dark tone. "Another was ended two centuries ago in Spain. By the Napoleon's men, I think. I don't know of any others."

I sensed no deceit. "What do you know of Tennessee?"

The change of subject didn't throw her. "Not much. He came to the lake house a few times, about ten years ago. But Nadia dismissed me so I don't know everything they discussed."

"Were they close?"

Her lip curled. "They shared a taste for other's pain."

No surprise there. "I meant politically."

She thought about it. "Perhaps. Nadia didn't trust him. She bugged his room, sent a spy to Nashville. They ignored each other in public. That puzzled me. I remember… She was tense at Rhodes. I thought it was the trial, but–"

"Sophie-Ann's trial?"

"Yes. Nadia _was_ angry about the verdict, definitely, but there was something else. She didn't relax until the ball, when a look passed between her and Tennessee. I don't know what it signified."

It seemed Bartlett's information was, as usual, correct. Tennessee had been running errands for Nadia, tattling Ocella's whereabouts to Freyda.

I had Yasmin relate all of Nadia's meetings with Tennessee, in detail. She held nothing back, her honesty cementing my plans for her.

It appeared that at best Tennessee and Nadia were exchanging favours, at worst he was privy to her whole plot. I suspected the truth was somewhere in between, and that Nadia had promised to reward him for his part. Something he missed out on when she was defeated, which explained his eagerness to rub my face in the dirt over Sookie. From hints Russell had let slip, Hugh was a very sore loser.

Once I was sure I knew everything, I had one last question for Yasmin. "Was Tennessee aware that you loathed your maker?"

"No. No-one was. Nadia never tolerated a whisper of disrespect in front of others."

"Good. Then perhaps there is a way you can serve me."

…

When I came back from discreetly settling Yasmin in to one of the rooms on the third floor, Geraldine was putting on her coat.

"She made the right choices, then?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Sensible."

Before she could say more, Goro and Jean-Luc arrived. Jean-Luc's pants were torn and his shirt was bloody. Goro's suit had seen better nights.

"Merde, you are insufferable!"

"Gaijin, concede. Savate is inferior."

Jean-Luc launched into a long reply in French, gesturing dramatically.

Geraldine, eyes wide, asked me, "How old are these two?"

"Over four hundred, if you can believe that," I replied.

She chuckled. "They sound like brothers."

The two idiots looked equally outraged at that. Sanjay, who'd been working silently at his desk, smothered a laugh.

Geraldine winked at me. "Night, Mr Northman. Good luck with the kids."

"Goodnight, Ms Hamilton." I winked back and said sternly, "Goro, the dojo better be spotless."

"Of course, Dono," he said, bowing. Jean-Luc pulled a face at him behind his back.

"A night cap, gentlemen?" I offered and they followed me into my office.

Sipping his blood, Jean-Luc looked around and commented, "No stains. Isabel said you would find a use for her."

"For who? You came all this way to trounce my second, and failed miserably."

"I did? Ah. I see. Yes, I came all this way for the pleasure of losing. Again." He pulled a sad face. "Such a pity there are no worthy opponents in Oklahoma. And the girl?"

"You let her go last night. She fled Oklahoma City and dropped off the radar."

"Mais oui, that's exactly what happened." He drained his glass. "Thanks for the hospitality Eric, but I should be going."

"Thank Isabel for me."

"I will." He grinned at my second. "It was close tonight. Next time I'll beat you, Goro."

Goro gave him some explicit, vulgar instructions in Japanese and they left me alone, sipping my blood and plotting.

Solidified my plans, I decided Yasmin would beg Tennessee for mercy, spew hatred against me for killing her _beloved_ maker and ingratiate herself with Hugh. If she failed and he killed her, I lost nothing. If her nerve held and she succeeded, I gained eyes and ears in Tennessee. Some warning if Hugh acted against me or mine.

Warning that might protect Sookie, but I ignored that.

The only snag I could see was Hugh might give Yasmin blood, as I had. She had to be able to fool him. But with my blood in her now, I could coach her until her reactions passed muster.

Finally my centuries under Ocella's thumb had some use, I thought morosely, swirling the blood round my glass slowly. Yasmin, Nadia, and long bleak nights with my maker darkened my thoughts until it was time to retire.

…

I gave Yasmin a crash course over the next three nights. Thankfully, she was a quick study, soon able to dim her feelings and mask their absence with calm so she felt rational and unemotional, not icily numb which would arouse suspicion. Rory must feel a similar calm from me when I damped my emotions.

Yasmin gave me a few curious looks as I drilled her, but she had the sense not to ask questions. Perhaps she guessed we had more in common than Nadia's whips. She must know Ocella had sold me to Freyda.

I dispatched her with a bundle of cash and instructions to lay low in Arkansas for another week before making her way to Memphis. The drop of blood I'd given her would be gone by then. She was to arrive destitute and grief-stricken, worm her way into Hugh's trust and stay until further notice. I had her memorise an anonymous e-mail address that I would check regularly, and some basic codewords. If she needed to flee, she was to go to Russell. He was nearest.

I had toyed with telling her to go to Thalia, but discarded that idea in case she was compromised and gave away Thalia's presence. Knowing the Greek, she was keeping out of sight. She was adept at that. Thinking of Thalia brought other thoughts too uncomfortable to entertain after the reminders of Ocella and Freyda. I was glad to return to my monotonous routine when Yasmin left.

It was Halloween that Sunday. The night before turned out to be anything but routine.

I rose early, restless, and dressed defiantly in jeans and t-shirt, not caring for Goro's disapproval. I emerged from the well-warded secret door in the back of the walk-in closet behind my desk, and took the less well-hidden passage beside it up to my rooms on the third floor. The more obvious door would draw any unwanted attention and having the two routes close together gave a reason for my scent to be in the closet. Barefoot, I dumped my laundry outside the door of my official quarters and spent half an hour sprawled on the bed checking email, as I did a couple of times a week to ensure the room held my scent.

I varied my route around the house for security reasons. That night, I left by the door and took the stairs down, carrying my laptop. A French vampire, Marie, was just coming on duty. Flushed from a recent feed, she was chatting to one of Yuri's wolves, Greg, on the second floor landing.

"It's wild down there. Dolores was actually smiling."

Greg chuckled and sniffed her gratuitously. "Smells like my kind of party."

"Benjamin certainly hit the spot," she purred toothily. When she saw me, she dropped her leer and bowed hastily. "Your majesty."

I grunted in reply. Having survived more than one Halloween attack – last year's in Oklahoma wasn't the first – I had impressed upon Yuri and Goro it should be business as usual this weekend. The party was for the donors, harmless fun for the dozen working tonight. Gloria's idea, Dolores had said, and I allowed it to keep the donors happy. There were rarely so many here – Goro wanted extra blood available. The guards were allowed to drop in, but only while they were off duty. Dolores knew to keep them to that.

Personally, I wasn't in the mood. I'd have to show my face at Sanctum tomorrow anyway. I headed straight for my office.

The giggling coming from the reception area was unexpected. A woman I'd never seen before was chatting with Geraldine, who had Halloween candy in her hand and a smile on her face.

The stranger turned to face me, holding out the basket on her arm and smiling invitingly. She said in the honeyed drawl of the South, "Trick or treat, your majesty."

The basket held a few bottles of orange-label Trublood – a special Halloween flavour; it still tasted dreadful – and a mound of candy. I barely glanced at the contents, my eyes drawn to the woman. She wore a tight, overfull red corset, a scrap of red fabric masquerading as a skirt, stockings, and red heels. Red horns completed the costume, but it was the body made for sin underneath it that had held my attention.

Curves. Lots of them. Tanned curves. Blue eyes, almost the right shade. Long golden blonde hair scrapped back into a tight bobbing ponytail.

"Take a bottle," she offered. "Unless you're thirsting for something warm..." Her eyes flicked towards my office door, and she drew a nail seductively down her neck.

There was a pause.

Silence on the precipice.

Temptation tugged and I let it pull me over the edge.

"Come," I said curtly.

I strode to my door, unlocked it and waved her inside. Geraldine was astonished. I never invited donors into my office. The closing door blocked out her wide-eyed expression, and I snapped the lock decisively, sealing my fate.

The blonde stood in the middle of the room, looking round. I took the basket from her arm, taking the opportunity to catch her scent: perfume, heavy and sweet but bearable. Wordlessly, I put the basket and my laptop on the coffee table and rotated a finger at her. She turned slowly in front of me.

The back view was just as luscious as the front. A flicker of desire warmed me for the first time in too long, burning away any remaining caution.

Fuck it.

"Undress."

Her eyes taking me in greedily, she began loosening the laces on the corset. Teasing, licking her lips, swinging her hips – putting on a well-rehearsed show. That was all wrong.

"Just take it off," I ordered tersely, moving behind my desk, pulling off my shirt and tossing it onto my chair. My jeans followed. I didn't want her scent on my clothes.

I watched her shimmy out of the skimpy costume. She dropped it on the desk between us with a coy glance at my rising cock.

She purred, "You want the stockings on, honey?"

I growled, unsettled by the pet name. She didn't flinch. "Off," I snapped.

She took the hint, stepping out of her heels quickly and turning away from me to roll down her stockings. I leaned forward, over the desk, taking in the view as she bent to pull them off.

The body was a better fit than her face. From behind then. Ruthlessly quashing my unease at what I was about to do, I glanced around for a suitable place.

The desk.

I cleared it, shoving papers aside and the chair backwards to make room before gesturing for her to join me. She sidled around the desk and pressed eagerly up against me.

For once I welcomed the warmth and the reminders it brought. I kissed her, close-mouthed and hard, my eyes shutting as I ran my hands all over her and imagined another warm body in her place.

It was working until she opened her mouth. I pulled away. I didn't want to taste her. She didn't taste right. I fought off another swell of doubt. This was probably an incredibly bad idea.

Fuck it. Fuck _her_.

Or a reasonable likeness.

I turned the blonde around and bent her over the desk. She moaned enthusiastically, spreading her legs and arching her back wantonly. My eyes were fixed on her hair. The colour was a near-perfect match. I searched for a memory that fit. The couch in the farmhouse. Close enough. But her hair had been loose. I reached forward and roughly pulled the woman's hair free, spreading the golden waves out over her shoulders. Better.

The blonde moaned again, but as I pushed inside her I drowned it out with the memory of another voice.

Or tried to.

Her breathy cries intruded. "Oh, yes… Just like that..."

I pulled on her hair to shut her up, concentrating on the feel of it in my fingers, the golden colour, remembering scents of tanning oil and an old house, another woman's moans. I lost myself deep in the fantasy, thrusting hard and fast, rushing towards release as if one pulsing orgasm could eject all the memories haunting me.

The blonde couldn't keep quiet. The wrong blonde. The one in the room, not my head.

"Oh, oh... Yes, right there... Don't stop, tiger... Oh, tiger…"

Quinn.

An image of him with Sookie in his arms ripped through the fragile illusion.

I shot backwards as if my cock had been dipped in silver, my back slamming against the wall. The chair, my jeans slung carelessly over the back, rocked wildly beside me. The donor gasped in shock and peered over her shoulder.

Rage and loss swept over me. My blood boiled. I growled menacingly as my fangs lengthened and I saw her neck, torn and bloody. I tensed to spring.

My cell phone slid slowly out of my jeans and clattered on the floor at my feet, saving her life.

Vibrating with barely contained fury, I stared at it for a microsecond, fighting for control. I wanted, needed the blonde to vanish. Now.

My head snapped up. I drilled my gaze into her wide eyes and caught her mind in a steel grip. Keeping eye contact, I stooped, snatched up the damn cellphone and hit the buttons in a blur as I shoved my hips back against her ass as if I was still hard. I pressed against her and pressed heavily into her mind, whispering harshly, "We are still fucking."

I released her mind and lust washed the vacant glaze from her eyes. The desk phone rang. She shifted under me, whining hoarsely, "Don't answer it."

I leaned forward to pick it up, crushing her mercilessly against the desk. She yelped.

I spat words into the silent handset. "Northman…Yes... On my way."

Deception complete and my control still tenuous, I slammed the receiver down and stepped away from her, tossing my cell onto the chair.

"Leave."

Sprawled on the desk, panting, she asked plaintively, "What? Why?"

Her accent had vanished. I grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. Ignoring her cry and the urge to break her arm, I dragged her round the desk and shoved her clothes at her. She clutched them to her chest, bewildered. I snatched up that fucking basket of candy and thrust that into her arms too.

I barked, "Get out."

When she didn't move, I frog-marched her to the door and shoved her out of it. I picked up the shoe she had dropped and threw it after her. It clattered loudly on the floor and Geraldine gasped, rising from her chair to stare at me. I growled and slammed the door, relocking it.

Dark visions of destruction and death swam before my eyes. Snarling, I turned and sped from the room, shouldering my way into the closet, down the passage, slamming erratically off the walls, holding everything in until I reached a place where I could let go.


	19. Crash

Hi all. Well, as you can see from the title... This is it, rock bottom for Eric. Only one way to go from here.

* * *

**Crash**

* * *

I came back to myself on my knees, naked, in the wreckage of my resting place. My fists, clenched at my sides, were swollen and throbbing. The air smelt of blood. My blood.

The bedroom was a mess. The bed was flipped, its iron frame warped and twisted, the mattress torn. A closet door hung off its hinges, lopsided.

Could be worse.

As I shifted to get to my feet, pain seared my thigh. Something had skewered the muscle, blood oozing thickly around it. Hissing I tugged it free, staunching the wound automatically as I looked at the twisted piece of metal in confusion for a moment. It was part of the table from the other room. I dropped it and staggered to my feet, a splinter of something else stabbing into my right heel. Cursing, I limped across the room and stepped over the broken door.

The sitting room _was_ worse.

I blinked at the destruction. A blizzard of stuffing floated in the air. The couch, the coffee table, the desk… All kindling. Blood, mine, splattered the walls, the ceiling. Fist-sized dents in the drywall trickled dust.

_Berserkr._

Fuck. This went beyond bloodlust. I had lost it completely. Blacked out.

Not since I was newborn had that happened spontaneously. I always retained a memory, however hazy, of what I did in the grip of hunger or battle. At my age, only a significant dose of fae blood should–

Blood. I needed blood.

I hobbled back into the bedroom and righted the mini-fridge in the corner. The motor whined and I smelt coolant. Unplugging it, I eyed the deep dent where it had hit the wall, wondering fleetingly if the soundproofing wards had muffled the impact.

Then I saw the blood dripping out around the now ill-fitting door.

Cursing again, I tipped the fridge on its back and yanked it open. One of the bags of blood inside had burst. I drained the two intact bags cold, leaning against the wall while I healed. Fetching a wet towel from the bathroom, the only room that was mercifully untouched, I mopped the carpet and then dropped the sodden towel in the fridge and slammed it shut.

How much time had passed?

My clothes, phone and laptop were upstairs. I dug a spare phone out of the pile of broken wood that used to be my nightstand and powered it up.

Only half an hour.

I relaxed. Then I remembered Becker and Salome were due to arrive shortly.

Shit. That gossipy pair were the last vampires I wanted to see. I could barely stand Becker's attitude normally, and the way tonight was going…

Resigning myself to more unpleasantness, I showered rapidly, dressed in a suit, and left the mess to deal with later. Up in my office my cell was winking on the chair where I'd dropped it. Two messages from Pam.

9:03pm:** WTF?**

9:26pm: **I take it heads have rolled.**

Shit. She felt my… outburst. From Shreveport. I texted back a terse all clear.

Just get through the night, I told myself.

The lingering scent of the blonde's perfume needled me. Throwing my jeans and shirt from earlier into the closet, I used the cologne I kept in there to mask the unwelcome smell. Then I put my desk to rights and tidied the room.

Only I had access to the cameras in my office, thank fuck. I pulled up the feed and my finger hovered over the delete button. No, I didn't need a copy as insurance: the cameras outside would show her leaving intact if there were allegations of foul play. l deleted the whole ill-advised encounter, grateful the sound was muted. The video was enough to make me want to put my fist through the screen.

Satisfied all traces of the blonde were gone, I unlocked the door and buzzed Geraldine to bring the files I needed. She bustled in and handed me a folder.

"It's all in there. The independent report, photos of the property. Everything you asked for."

I flipped it open and began speed reading. Becker was disputing the value of some property he'd bought in Baton Rouge, from a vampire who'd worked at Seven Veils before leaving the state. Salome was representing her former employee. Goro usually dealt with routine Area 2 matters, but Becker had insisted on my involvement and on meeting tonight.

Because he was a self-important asshole. One who would argue until hell froze over if he thought he might get one more red cent out of it.

Geraldine cleared her throat and I glanced up.

"Mr Northman. About earlier." She took a deep breath. "I'm just going to be blunt. I need to–"

"Mrs Hamilton," I interrupted. Wonderful. She was quitting. "We agreed a month's notice, if I recall."

"What? You're firing me?"

"No." I stared at her. "Tonight didn't… offend your sensibilities?"

"My sensibilities?" She frowned. "Oh, you mean the sex."

I nodded.

She snorted. "Mr Northman, I mightn't be as old as you, and I'm sure you've done things that would curl my hair, but I have been around the block more times than I care to remember and I'm no prude. Besides," she added drily, "I've been a PA for a long time. You're not the first boss I've had that liked a little afternoon delight in his office."

I raised an eyebrow. "This was more of a… midnight snack."

"Right." Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "With the reputation y'all have, I'm just surprised it hasn't happened before. Now, what you get up to behind closed doors is your business, long as everyone's willing. And the girl offered… But I'm getting side-tracked. May I sit?"

"Go ahead."

She tugged the visitor chair closer and sat, resting her clasped hands on the edge of my desk. "When you threw her out. That was bloodlust, right?"

Ah. I had asked Dolores to make sure she understood what we were, what we were capable of. "Close enough."

"You sure were pissed," she said, half to herself, nodding. "What did the girl do?"

I stiffened.

"I'm not prying," she said quickly, raising her hands. "Dolores will want to know, to decide whether to fire her. Is it – this sounds so ludicrous – was it her hair?"

"Her hair?"

She looked apologetic. "The colour."

"Why does that matter?" I said curtly. Fucking gossip. I hated living in a nest, on fucking display.

She cleared her throat. "Because she was a brunette when Dolores interviewed her last week."

I sat up. "She was?"

"Uh-huh. Dolores was real shocked to see a blonde when I took the girl downstairs. She snuck past her, apparently. Darn it. With all the fuss, I forgot to ask – it was okay for her to be up here, wasn't it? She said she was bringing candy round to everybody."

No, it wasn't. I smelt a spy. I hissed softly and reached for the phone.

Geraldine groaned. "Jiminy Cricket. I knew I should have checked. She left already. She was making a scene and Dolores sent her home."

Fuck me. The girl would be long gone.

And fuck me twice. She had been glamoured specifically to target me. 'Tiger' was a common enough endearment to slip by me earlier, but with her looks, that fake accent, and the damn pet name as well…

Too many coincidences.

That got me up and pacing angrily behind my desk. Someone had programmed her to rub my nose in it. What a _charming_ Halloween gift. Who the fuck sent her? De Castro? Tennessee? I would fucking... Shit. If they knew how I'd reacted… I grabbed my phone.

"Goro. Did anyone report anything odd, anyone where they shouldn't be? Anything out of place downstairs? Any noise? In the last hour or so."

"No, Dono. No-one has reported anything. But the party is loud. Is there a problem?"

Thank fuck. The wards held. "A donor," I told him. "Wandering off reservation. Second floor."

He hissed. "When? Who let her up there?"

"The dayguards, right before shift change." Fucking useless wolves. "Check the cameras, see where she went. Make sure everyone remains alert." I hung up, and sat down heavily.

I was lucky. No-one had heard my fit of temper, and by chance I had covered up perfectly with the girl. I was certain my glamour had taken: I had taken her memory of my reaction and she believed a phone call interrupted us. Whoever had sent her would think their trap had failed to spring, missed its mark.

Geraldine grimaced. "I'm sorry."

I waved her quiet. "Not your fault."

"I should have stopped her leaving, at least. I was too busy–" She cut herself off, looking sheepish.

"Go on," I gritted out.

"Back in March, when we were setting up the house…" She glanced at my hair. "Ms Ravenscroft told Dolores you weren't partial to blondes. I'm guessing that wasn't exactly true."

Shit. None of the donors here were blonde. I hadn't noticed, feeding as infrequently as I had been. I shifted uneasily. Everyone else would have. The dearth of fair hair might lead to conclusions I didn't want made, however true it was that I'd been avoiding those damn reminders.

I needed to speak to Dolores about taking my child's advice without running it by me. And do some damage control, starting now.

"A joke at my expense," I said as lightly as I could. "Pam likes to think she's funny."

"Kids, eh?" Geraldine narrowed her eyes. "Strange. Ms Ravenscroft didn't seem like the jealous type."

"She's not."

It was a clumsy attempt to keep me focused during those first crucial months on the throne. Why Pam thought her interference was needed was another matter. Apparently I needed to remind her who was the maker in our relationship. That conversation would be as pleasant as having a fang pulled. Things had been strained enough between us.

Geraldine stood up, apparently satisfied for now. "Well, let me know if you need anything."

"Wait." Tonight was the first time she had seen me for what I was. Dangerous. Lethal. A predator. If that had rattled her, it was best to know now. "Earlier… Did I scare you?"

"I won't lie. You did." She shrugged. "Jim scared me once or twice, but I stuck by him."

I raised an eyebrow, and gestured between us. "This is hardly a marriage."

"No. But I've always said no wife knows a man as well as his PA." She added sternly, "I'm not a quitter, Mr Northman. In marriage or employment."

I regarded her steadily for a moment. "You may call me Eric."

"Thank you. But you'll be Mr Northman in front of everyone else." She smiled faintly, "Even if I have seen a whole lot more of you."

She got to the door by the time I realised what she meant: I was naked when I threw the blonde out. She looked back at me, grinning cheekily. "Those calendars don't do you justice. You made an old gal very happy."

She winked and disappeared, leaving me shaking my head, faintly amused.

I had picked Geraldine based on her impressive résumé, despite her very human background and lack of experience with vampires, which she'd been very honest about at interview. I had liked her at once. She certainly had moxie, and a sense of humour. She reminded me of...

I groaned.

Et tu, Geraldine? How did a grey-haired widow, how did even she bring to mind a completely different woman? She was nothing like _her_.

Fucking reminders. I still couldn't avoid them and attempting to fuck them out of my system had been a complete disaster.

…

I righted the chair Becker had just vacated as Salome watched me steadily.

"I don't object to your ruling, but some might say the delivery was unwise." She smiled cruelly. "Others might say Becker had it coming."

I shrugged, straightening my cuffs.

Telling Becker I'd had enough of his whining was one thing; grabbing him by his throat and pointing out I was the fucking king and he'd better get the fuck out of my sight before I really did stake him... That was definitely unwise. The old dear was six hundred and if the rumours of his wealth weren't exaggerated, he could afford a very good assassin.

Salome stepped in front of me and I hissed softly in warning. She froze. When I didn't move to stop her, she stepped closer, keeping her eyes down and her posture submissive.

"You're rumpled," she said, reaching out carefully. She smoothed the breast of my jacket and straightened my tie before she looked up. Grey eyes held mine. She said softly, "Bad luck for Becker that he caught you in a testy mood. I'll smooth things over with the miser." She ran her hands lingeringly down my chest. "If you need to work off some tension..."

I covered her hands with mine, halting them. "Sucking up to me now I'm king?"

She smiled, dazzlingly. "Power _is_ a notorious aphrodisiac."

"And you always excelled at sucking."

She threw her head back and laughed. I watched her cleavage dance with clinical detachment. When she stopped, she patted my chest and stepped back. "You have a lot on your mind."

I did, but I wasn't going to admit it, much less discuss it with her. "Goodnight, Salome."

"Goodnight, my liege." She bowed theatrically, eyes still amused.

Five minutes later Goro and Dolores arrived. Goro had gone to the blonde's address only to find another girl, a brunette, answering to her name. The blonde had stolen her identity. We had no idea who she really was, and she'd disappeared like smoke.

Luckily she hadn't been anywhere else in the house. Dolores was profoundly apologetic, and furious that the girl had got past her checks. I didn't blame her: the forgeries were professional. Someone paid top dollar for their Halloween trick.

We were interrupted, mid-discussion. An emergency, a human almost drained at a house in an upmarket suburb.

A nice quiet suburb, the kind that provided the bedrock of the mayor's support. And the girl was young, barely eighteen. The last thing I needed was a scandal amongst the chattering classes of Baton Rouge. Or in this case, the class that took off for a long weekend and left their teenagers behind to throw a wild party.

The potential political fallout with the locals kept me from washing my hands of the fool and turning him over to human law enforcement. They would be the kinder option. By dawn he was awaiting my displeasure in the warehouse I used for those who incurred it.

Thankfully, the girl would recover. And the cretin at least had the wits to feed out of sight, so we had been able to pretend she had passed out to get her out of the house. It still took glamouring half a dozen drunken youths out of the rowdy hundreds that were there, and all before the police arrived to break up the gathering. Alcohol gave us a cover story for the girl's hospital stay too.

Fixing the mess and covering it up took most of the night. I went straight to my quarters when we got back. Kicking a piece of couch out of my path, I looked around. No time to clear up. I grabbed a set of sheets and made myself a makeshift bed on the floor by the closet, a balled up sweater serving as a pillow.

I had rested in worse places.

….

Halloween itself began bloodily.

I was in the perfect mood to make an example of the idiot who had decided to break my rules on my doorstep. If I broke a few more bones than strictly necessary during our 'chat', no-one batted an eyelid. Even him.

It was only his youth that saved him from the stake, and he knew it. I sentenced him according to the rules I'd put in place for vampires under a century – six months in silver, three for the damage to the girl and three for the risk of exposure, and money to cover her hospital bills plus a hefty fine for the drama.

A lesson he wouldn't soon forget.

Consequently, I was late to Sanctum and in no mood to be on display. But the chore came with the position, and it had to be done. I locked down my emotions before I entered, projecting an air of calm boredom to match my detached expression. Oskar was waiting in a booth across the floor when I came in with Goro.

And Rory was just leaving.

"Your majesty," she greeted with an edge to her tone. Still pissed, then.

"Miss Kingfisher. Leaving so soon? I hoped for another dance."

"I have a patient," she said curtly. "You would no more interfere with my duties than I would the running of your kingdom."

Subtext: or my choice of lawyer. Touché. Definitely still pissed with me.

"Of course," I said coolly, stepping aside and dipping my head as she swept past.

Oskar's company was a poor substitute. We talked politics, while Goro and Levi talked security. Goro was impressed with the club. The were-leopard too, judging by the amount of fang he was discreetly displaying. Levi didn't seem disconcerted, laughing warmly several times as they flirted.

Ariadne and Malcolm both stopped by. Malcolm enthused over how well the night was going and delivered a sample of our newest blood cocktail, the Bloody Duchess. With essence of a real Duchess, one of Levi's old Oxford contacts apparently. Oskar enjoyed it, but it did nothing for me. Ariadne, practical as ever, brought news of the night's impressive take but even that didn't lighten my mood.

Oskar was his usual dour self so I noticed it when he smirked. Following his gaze across the room to Rory's usual table, I saw Elva and Bran, with a fae woman I didn't recognise.

Oskar leant over. "That's not your spawn in the blonde's belly, but she's definitely eye-fucking you."

"And in front of her husband, too."

"You know them?"

"We've met. Briefly." I waited until Elva looked over again and raised my glass to her. She blushed furiously and Bran noticed immediately. He said something to her, laughing, then rolled his eyes at me.

Oskar stared for a moment. "The husband's not very possessive, is he?"

I raised an eyebrow. "She's hardly going to do more than look. She's young, not suicidal."

"Pity," Oskar said, his eyes lingering on her. He did like a blonde.

We lapsed into silence, and I began to count the minutes until I could leave. There were too many. I was still in the booth when Amelia Broadway danced, or rather waddled, across the floor in the arms of a dark-haired skinny man. Her husband, the one who'd been a cat. Rob?

Her voice drifted over. "...I'm so pleased, Bob."

Ah, that was his name. The witch looked ready to pop, and pregnancy hadn't made her voice any quieter. Idly, I listened in.

"She's really happy. Far be it from me to blow my own trumpet," – I held back a snort – "but I knew the move would be good for her. Getting her and Quinn together was a great idea."

A flash of rage flared through me, so strong I almost crushed the glass in my hand. I willed myself to keep still.

Bob said something, sharp and low. Startled, Amelia looked round. I heard her curse distinctly, before she finally got a clue and lowered her voice.

Oskar was about to say something, probably disparaging by the look in his eye, but Becker arrived at the table to pay his obsequious respects. He was fooling nobody. As if I didn't know he was itching to stake me as soon as my back was turned. Pompous fool.

I left as soon as I could. Goro drove the limo home. I stretched out on the backseat, slipping into downtime.

Usually downtime consisted of replayed memories, with some limited facility to influence which ones popped up. Like human sleep, it suspended the connection between mind and body, leaving the vampire experiencing it as still as the grave, but, unlike a human sleeper, able to wake to full alertness instantly.

That was not what happened this time. It started innocently enough:

_Sanctum, earlier tonight. Amelia and Bob dancing._

_The same dance floor, back in the summer. Sookie waltzing in Quinn's arms, smiling up at him. Rory glaring at me from behind them, turning to leave._

_Wait. That wasn't–_

_My office. Pam throwing Sookie's letter on my desk, lunging for my throat, snarling. A fight. Finally throwing her out, and turning to find the blonde from last night, sprawled across my desk, face up, her neck torn open. Blood pooling under her, over the letter Pam had left there._

_The blonde's eyes, open and fixed, staring at me. Her face was Sookie's, deathly pale, glassy eyes accusing._

_The yell of denial choked in my throat._

_A familiar white room. Silver chains, pain. Nadia, face inches from mine, dripping with my blood, turning away to choose a knife. Ocella turning back. Calmly telling me about the contract, as if for the first time, carving into my chest with the knife. Pain searing me inside and out._

_This was wrong. It didn't happen that way. I struggled desperately against the silver, but the chains pulled tighter._

_Another jarring scene change. The wedding night. Freyda with Nadia, fucking on a bloodstained bed, taunting me, the sting of the whip fresh on my back. A jolt, and it was the tiger and Sookie locked together in an embrace, laughing at me._

_Hissing, I scrabbled backwards, away from them, until my back hit the wall–_

The back seat of the Brick snapped into focus around me.

I was pressed into the corner, against the door. Shaking my head to clear it, I met Goro's puzzled eyes in the mirror.

"Eric?" he asked cautiously.

"It's nothing," I growled, sitting up fast and shooting him a fierce scowl, daring him to disagree.

"Of course, Dono," he said, respectfully averting his eyes.

Rattled, I stifled the residual swirls of fear and anger – and every other fucking feeling churned up by that… whatever the hell that was – until all my emotions were contained behind a wall of icy calm. That done, I stared out the window, trying to make sense of what I just experienced.

I had obviously reacted to… whatever it was physically, startling Goro.

The unpleasant flashbacks that overtook me after being tortured had likewise overridden the usual downtime paralysis, allowing me to move and speak whilst trapped in a waking hell, stuck reliving the past until reality broke through. Vampires commonly experienced that after sufficiently traumatic events. Or so I'd been told. I hadn't seen it. Sufferers kept to themselves, only slipping into downtime when there were no witnesses.

But the flashbacks were still memories. Things that really happened.

What I'd just seen had a kernel of reality, true, but it had been twisted into darker possibilities, ones that never happened. Fear had been the predominant atmosphere.

A nightmare? Impossible. We didn't sleep. No sleep, no dreams, no nightmares.

Some spell, a curse? No. This came from me, I was sure of it. It was too personal.

Madness? I didn't _feel _mad, but the insane had no self-awareness. And after my outburst yesterday…

No. No, it was just fucking feelings, perhaps a last psychological kick in the head from the torture. I should lock my emotions down, keep control. Stay rational, focused. Yes, that was the key. Fall back on what I was good at, behaviours that had gotten me through the centuries.

So that's what I did. And because that was easier if I was busy, I made damn sure I kept busy.

…..

That Friday I was scheduled to visit Area 5. I flew to Pam's house, not looking forward to our monthly face-to-face.

We still hadn't cleared the air after our fight. And the night before I'd slipped into downtime in my office and had another twisted vision. Pam had come after me with a stake in this one. It unsettled me deeply, and I shut our connection tightly once I got to Shreveport.

Stan was sitting in the living room. Pam hadn't warned me he was visiting – he had an open invitation to Area 5 with the understanding that he came incognito, alone. I opened our connection briefly and shot Pam a burst of annoyance. Internally she was defiant, but outwardly she bowed her head respectfully and kept quiet.

"Stan. This is unexpected."

"I apologise for the lack of warning." He bowed, and I nodded, accepting the apology. He continued, "We need to talk. About the murder here in Shreveport. And what went wrong in Houston."

"Ah."

Things hadn't ended, as Stan hoped, with the FBI exposing the Chosen as a murderous bunch of thugs, whilst the shapeshifter vigilantes melted into the background undiscovered. The situation had shifted over the winter, before Joseph met his end in February.

I took a seat on the couch facing Stan, spreading my arms across the back. "Proceed."

"What do you know already?" he asked.

"Four of the Chosen were quietly arrested in January." While I was organising the takeover, but I followed the press reports. I had recognised their names from the dossier Joseph had given me.

"I'm surprised you noticed," he said drily.

"Yes. Tax evasion, embezzlement. Not exactly the stuff of headlines." At the time I assumed the FBI were waiting for the right moment to announce prosecutions for hate crimes but that moment never came. "Disappointing, but after the Were attack in December–"

"Yes, that was unfortunate," Stan agreed. "A game-changer, as they say."

It had been played repeatedly on the news channels: grainy footage of a wolf shifting back to human, a fatal shotgun wound gaping in his chest. Killed by one of the Fellowship's new, squeaky-clean spokespeople. A woman, in her own home, a few days before Christmas. The footage, complete with tree, presents and screaming children in the background, was leaked online.

It created a media storm. Simon Trent, the Fellowship leader and every inch the suave, confident and attractive politician, appeared on TV appealing for calm. The woman herself made an emotional statement from her perfect front lawn, surrounded by her apple-pie family, regretting the death but denouncing the wolf's attack on her family. Under Texan law she had a right to use deadly force to repel a home invasion. With sympathy heavily on her side, it was doubtful she would face a murder charge, much less be convicted. It was written off as self-defence.

No-one explained how the wolf got in, or how she and her children escaped without a scratch.

"You think that was orchestrated to turn opinion against the two-natured. Get the Chosen off the hook if they were arrested?" I asked. I suspected so myself.

Stan shrugged. "The wolf was Carter's brother-in-law."

"Ah." That I hadn't known. Carter had been oddly missing from the file Joseph gave me. Yet Stan believed Carter had been the leader of the Houston vigilantes, Tooth 'n Claw. Joseph had been holding out on me.

"Carter himself died a few days earlier," Stan informed us. "A car crash."

"Interesting. Was the brother-in-law seeking revenge?"

"I thought so at first. He was a hot-head. But one with a habit of running his mouth. If he held the Fellowship responsible, he kept it very quiet."

"Hm. Was the crash an accident?"

"Joseph said it was. Carter's wife believes not. She's been petitioning me."

"Why you?" I answered myself: "Joseph. When we spoke, his preferred solution was eliminating the wolves."

"Yes. And it appears Joseph was less than honest with me," Stan said grimly.

"Hardly a surprise," Pam offered, "since he intended to betray you."

"He was lucky I ended him quickly," Stan growled.

"If Joseph was set to take Texas," I said, thinking aloud, "he had a strong motive for solving the Houston problem. Why not make use of Carter's death to frame the Chosen?"

"Perhaps the FBI proved too difficult to fool," Pam suggested. "Or events moved too quickly."

"On the other hand," I said slowly, a second theory coming to me, "if Joseph stuck to the original plan and opened negotiations with the wolves, but Carter refused, became an obstacle, Joseph would have removed him."

Stan shook his head. "Carter's widow is convinced Joseph double-crossed him. Her husband died two nights after his first meeting with Joseph. She insists Carter was, albeit reluctantly, considering a ceasefire in return for Joseph handing the FBI enough evidence to damn the Chosen. I'm inclined to believe her, given the extent of Joseph's duplicity."

I raised an eyebrow.

"All the evidence was destroyed when Joseph was ended. By a child he made without my knowledge."

"Sulphur and brimstone," Pam muttered.

Stan grunted his agreement. "Joseph also told me his maker was finally dead. She contacted me two months ago for compensation. She's in Spain. She hates wolves with a passion. Quite rabidly." His mouth twitched at the pun.

"Ah."

Stan had had Joseph's maker investigated. Spain had seen particularly brutal Purges and she still harboured a grudge. Stan concluded that Joseph had never truly supported his policy of co-operation with the two-natured.

That put the mess in Houston in a new light.

But even if Joseph loathed shapeshifters, containing the Chosen was in his interests. Stan was sure Joseph destroyed the evidence purely out of spite, and would have hand the Chosen to the FBI on a silver platter if he'd succeeded in taking Texas. Stan had questioned the Dallas FBI liaison about the low-key nature of the arrests, but he didn't get an adequate explanation. Just bullshit about procedures and admissible evidence. Unfortunately the evidence Stan had counted on was gone.

We went back and forth over why Joseph might have killed Carter: to send a message to the wolves, to provoke them into something rash, to get rid of him. It was impossible to know. If it even was Joseph – any evidence was long gone.

Once we'd exhausted the possibilities I asked, "Did Joseph's maker have anything to do his bold plan?"

None of us believed he could hold Texas without a backer. Joseph had half a dozen allies within the state, allies who had fled or been ended, but none with significant power. Whoever his backer was, they'd been cautious. Shrewd. Old, probably.

"I think not. She hasn't left Spain for a century. I lean closer to home, but let's focus on this murder in Shreveport. I've found two more possibles."

Pam and I were instantly alert. "Where and when?" I asked.

"One in Austin, at a gas station, back in April. Dismissed as an armed robbery gone wrong. We only found it after the murder here had us checking old records. And one in Little Rock in July. A body in a burnt-out car. Rita called me two nights ago, when dental records identified the victim as an ex-marine, resident in Houston at the time of that house fire. He was using a false identity in Arkansas, so Rita's investigator missed it at first."

Pam said, "Whoever it is could be targeting those responsible for the fire. If we could find the culprits ourselves, it might lead us to our vengeful wolf."

"Perhaps," Stan said doubtfully. "But what about the pastor here? He had no connection to Houston as far as we know. I'm concerned we may have a splinter group."

"There's still no sign of them in Houston?" I asked. The original group had vanished like smoke on the wind after Carter's death. Daisy and her brother too, but that was no shock to me. Her people were secretive and extremely twitchy around federal authorities.

"No. They've scattered. What concerns me is they may be after publicity. The murder here was blatant. A more visible target and–"

"The bite marks," Pam finished

"Yes, exactly. None of the others had such an obvious calling card. We've been lucky so far."

"If they have switched tactics, it's only a matter of time before this gets out," I said.

We fell silent, imagining how that would stir the pot.

Of the two Chosen members Tooth 'n Claw killed in Houston, one was a shooting, easily passed off as random gang violence, and the more gruesome aspects of the second murder had been kept out of the press. Instead, hints had been dropped about the victim's past – a drug charge, violence – to explain away his murder.

The FBI had kept the truth quiet so as not to inflame the situation, but we couldn't rely on their discretion forever. Not if we had the start of a spree on our hands. And with three more murders in Austin, Shreveport and Little Rock it certainly looked likely.

Stan asked if I had any idea where Daisy might be, but my knowledge of her was three generations old. A dalliance with her grandmother sixty years ago wasn't much use. Pam suggested Niall might know where to find her, from something Daisy said when they'd met last year.

When Sookie was kidnapped. I battened my emotions down tightly, let nothing show on my face. Pam would pick up the slightest tell, even with our connection closed.

I was glad of that when Stan turned to me and asked, "Any favours to call in with Brigant?"

"No," I said stonily, keeping tight hold of myself.

"Pity," Stan said nonchalantly, not reacting to my terseness. Bartlett, or more likely Russell who was the bigger gossip, would have spilt the beans about my run-in with Tennessee by now, and Niall giving_ her _his protection. "I'll have to beg a favour from Niall myself then."

Pam snorted. "Good luck with that, Stan."

She got up to warm some blood for us, and we chatted about other matters. The upcoming Amun summit, human politics, the oil business. Soon it was time to leave.

"Any other Area 5 business?" I asked Pam.

"No. Nothing new. You have the figures."

"Good. I need to get back." I stood.

"You're not staying?" Pam shot a glance at Stan. "I'll walk you out."

Outside, on the drive, I waited for her to speak.

"Niall called me. A courtesy call he called it, but there was precious little courtesy involved."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Sookie will be visiting Bon Temps for the holidays. No vampire here is to, and I quote, touch a hair on her head."

"That's all?" I said evenly.

She frowned slightly, examining my face. She said carefully, "She called herself to confirm. She asked if the tiger might–"

I shook my head. "Too soon."

"Yes. I told her she was free to come and go, and always had been, but the tiger should wait for an invitation."

I nodded. "Perhaps next summer."

She blinked, puzzled. I turned to go, but she stopped me.

"Eric, wait. Are you...?" Unusually hesitant, she changed what she was about to say. "Are we good?"

I looked at her. Were we?

Her driveway wasn't the place to discuss her interference with the donors and how pissed I was with it. Stan's presence had spared us that. She didn't seem as angry with me, which was something.

But the tension between us was palpable.

"We've been better," I answered truthfully and launched into the sky.

…

Back in Baton Rouge, I buried myself in kingdom business.

I had Geraldine fill my schedule – meetings with vampire, human, were or demon, I didn't care – from sunset to dawn. I worked hard, and harder at keeping control. Locking my emotions down became my first action on rising. I avoided downtime except for the briefest of intervals before dawn. Then when even those few minutes were filled with disturbing visions, I busied myself until the day took me, silencing my unruly mind with the tedium of office.

When the walls of the house closed in on me, visiting my sheriffs provided a brief respite. I flew to the other Areas by choice, focusing on the cool night air, the stars.

Some nights even that solitude was oppressive.

At first, Goro approved of my industrious work ethic. Then I began to feel him watching me, in my periphery. He didn't say anything, but he was more cautious when we sparred, more deferential when we spoke.

It was indescribably irritating.

Ms Lindenberg visited us again. She was unrepentant, making snide remarks, toe nudging the line I'd drawn in the sand but not quite crossing it. That tested my already worn control and after she left I snapped at Dolores. Everyone, not just Goro, walked on eggshells around me for the rest of the night, which only served to shorten my temper further.

When I expected Yuri and his wolves to work through a drill Thanksgiving night, Geraldine raised objections. I refused to alter my schedule. She went to Goro behind my back, and the two of them argued that the breathing staff expected time off for the holiday, even if I didn't. I conceded resentfully, insisting on shuffling appointments to fill the gap.

I worked relentlessly from dusk to dawn after that. Like a machine.

The first Saturday in December I was in front of Geraldine's desk a scant five minutes after sunset. I was on edge. A few items had cropped up earlier that week that meant we'd had to juggle my over-full schedule. My phone hadn't picked up the alterations.

"My cell is acting up. What's first tonight?"

"Oh, Mr Northman. Good evening." She smiled a firm, polite smile. "I'm afraid there's been a bit of a mix-up. You don't have anything scheduled until midnight tomorrow."

I blinked. "What?"

"My mistake," she explained, completely unapologetic. "I cleared tonight when we were rescheduling, and accidentally skipped over the date."

"Shuffle things around," I snapped.

"Well, all your hard work has paid off." Her smile became determined. "Next week is actually pretty free."

"Let me see." I leant rudely across the desk and turned her laptop around, stabbing at the buttons. I stared at the almost empty calendar. What the fuck was this bullshit?

Goro came through the door at speed, straightening his cuffs. He faltered slightly when he saw me. Covering with a graceful bow he said, "Kitajin-sama. You are here."

"Of course," I said tersely. I gestured at the screen in front of me. "Did you have something to do with this?"

"Dono, is something wrong? I will assist however I can."

"You and this incompetent woman," I said coldly, ignoring Geraldine's intake of breath, "have deliberately conspired to mess up my schedule. Do not deny it."

Goro bowed again, more formally if that was possible, his face smooth and polite. "Kitajin-sama. Your majesty. Please excuse your humble servant this disrespect against your honourable personage. It was necessary for the performance of my duties."

The excessive politeness was his way of calling me a bloody idiot. Holding tightly to the anger coiling in my belly, I said very slowly, "Do not treat me like a child."

Goro straightened and looked me right in the eye. "I do only what I must." Slipping in to Japanese he misquoted a proverb pointedly. "Mitsugo no tamashii sen made."*

I growled. He didn't flinch.

"Kitajin-sama. We are upsetting the woman. We should step into your office."

I glared at him for a full minute while I reined in my rage, finally turning on my heel wordlessly and stalking inside. Geraldine let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind us.

I leaned against my desk, arms folded, fists clenching. "Well?"

"Eric. Louisiana will not fall apart if you take a night off."

"I will decided that. You have exceeded your authority."

"I made a decision for the good of the kingdom. You are too tightly wound."

"I am fine."

He shook his head. "You are not. Otherwise you would not take offence at this."

My jaw clenched, holding back an angry retort that would only prove his point .

Fuck. He did have a point. I was snapping at the littlest thing.

"Fine. I'll take the damn night off."

"Thank you." He sounded relieved. I realised with a jolt that he expected this would come to blows. Serious blows. "I will see you tomorrow at midnight, Dono."

"Unless you want to spar," I offered slyly.

He shook his head. "I must decline. I like my head where it is." Then he winked at me. "Go fuck a dozen pretty donors until you don't want to snap my neck any more."

I waved him out. "Yes, yes, Goro. Get your scrawny Nippon ass out of my sight."

Alone, I looked through my in-tray, answered a few emails and cleared my desk, bored out of my mind. Even stretching it out, it only wasted half an hour. I wasn't in the mood for donors, pretty or not. Perhaps a flight.

I went up to the roof. It was drizzling. I leaned against the rail around the terrace, staring at the damp, grey sky and sighed heavily. No stars.

There was nowhere I wanted to go. Flying around aimlessly was not appealing. I stayed outside a while, dragging my feet.

Eventually I went down to my hidden chambers and flicked on the lamp I'd brought down from the office weeks ago. Not that I needed it, coming down here just before dawn, staying just long enough to shower and dress each sunset. I looked at the mess that I finally had time to clear up, and kicked sullenly at a few bits of debris. I hated cleaning.

I'd moved my bed of blankets into the sitting room when blood in the mini-fridge began to stink out the bedroom. I could start with getting rid of that. It wouldn't take long.

I didn't move.

Clearing the mess wouldn't fill all the hours until dawn. Empty hours with nothing to focus on except myself, nothing to stop me slipping into downtime.

I realised I was afraid of what would happen if I did.

Fuck that. Time to conquer that fear.

Entering downtime, much like sleep, required a state of relaxation. Leaning against the wall, I swept my hair back off my face. I closed my eyes to the wreckage and focused. Slowly, carefully, I relaxed my mind, expecting a deluge of unlocked emotions.

My eyes flicked open.

Nothing had changed. I wasn't overwhelmed with pent-up anger, finally uncorked. Instead I felt… numb.

And tired. Tired down to my bones, every one of my nights pressing on me. I slid down the wall to sit on the floor. After a time I lay on my side in the nest of blankets, waiting patiently for downtime.

It didn't come.

Unless the intense lethargy that overtook me was some new version sent to torment me. Hard to say if it was any better than the terrible visions. I rolled over onto my back, throwing my arm over my eyes. I was exhausted. Dawn took me, and sunset washed me back up to the same bone-gnawing fatigue.

I didn't get up.

What was the point? Another joyless night, just one in the long line stretching out before me.

My cell rang, insistent and irritating. I had taken it out of my back pocket sometime last night and tossed it on the floor a foot away. I ignored it.

The third time it rang I crushed it with a slap and rolled over to face the wall, pulling the covers around me. Goro wanted me to relax. He could deal with whatever fucking ridiculous emergency it was this time.

The pulse of anger faded quickly and I couldn't summon it again. Even when I thought of what had provoked the whirlwind of destruction down here, thought of_her, _with the tiger, deliberately poked that wound. Dull resentment was as worked up as I could get.

Those thoughts brought an unpleasant ache though, so I stopped thinking them, sighed heavily and waited for downtime, a vision. Something, anything.

Pam's call in my blood broke the monotony.

It was muffled, like a shout in thick sea fog. Vague and hard to locate.

Fog. Peaceful, quiet fog. I imagined a soft damp grey wall blanketing me, the tang of salt, the dull echo of waves slapping softly against a hull, the gentle splash of oars…

Pam's call tugged at me again, shattering the soothing fantasy.

I didn't open our connection. I didn't want to feel her. I wanted to be alone, even in my blood. A quiet sadness rose in my chest. Karin. There was a call I would never feel again.

Another loss, another ache.

Time passed.

I didn't keep track.

I rolled onto my back again, staring at the ceiling. My mind drifted aimlessly, until I heard movement and a sharp intake of breath from the corridor.

Last night I anticipated going to and fro, taking out the trash. The door was still unlocked. Not even pushed all the way shut I realised dully, as my blood told me who had arrived.

I didn't have time to groan.

Pam blurred into the room, fangs down and hands clawed, ready for a fight.

...

**Footnotes:**

The actual Japanese proverb is '**Mitsugo no tamashii hyaku made**' meaning literally 'the soul of a three year old until a hundred.' It means our personalities persist, no matter our age. Goro substituted sen, a thousand, and used the saying rather bravely to tell Eric he was behaving like a three year old.

**Author's Note:**

First, the good. Thank you for the reviews as always. Well done to everyone who spotted the donor was a plant last week.

Second, the not so nice.

Okay. Here's the thing. I have a bunch of reviews worried about poor Eric because he hasn't had meaningless sex for a few months. And another bunch of reviews calling Sookie all the names under the sun for falling into bed with an old flame, for whom she still has feelings, and then beginning a committed relationship with him.

Do you see the difference there?

Now, I'm sure if it was Eric's bed she'd fallen into, there would be no name-calling.

But.

Stepping outside of the story and the fandom for a moment, I want to address a real world issue. I feel obliged to do so because this is an open site and teenagers read it.

It is not okay to call women (or anyone) sluts just because they have sex, want sex, or are assertive about it. It is not okay to have different standards for men and women.

I would love if those attitudes were long gone, but the world ain't perfect. Yet.

Let's tone down the invective please. I don't want to delete reviews, but I will if they continue to be blatantly offensive.

On a more positive note, I've added more stories to my favourites. They're all great. If you want something sweeter, or thinking the fandom is dying, go look. There's plenty out there.


	20. Shock Therapy

Thanks, as always, for the reviews, and the supportive comments. Much appreciated. Some housekeeping:

My attitude to reviews is on my profile. Note the word **polite**. I view my role as keeping things civilised.

Last week, rather than delete I commented, as I did when I wrote domestic violence into Turbulence, because an issue was important to me. I mentioned things from many reviews to avoid singling anyone out. Not to slam reviewers who are unhappy with the character for other reasons. Apologies if it came across that way.

I'm a relative newbie and unaware of previous upsets in the fandom.

I'm not about to delete reviews wily-nily, or stop writing, so no need to panic.

To be clear:

1\. Criticism is welcome. Offensive language/attitudes are not. If that's all a review contains it's a wasted review.

2\. Reviews rarely offend me, but I have deleted ones that were offensive / didn't address the story. Only 2 or 3 I think. None on Crash and Burn, and I want it to stay that way.

3\. Believe it or not, I have taken on board some of the comments about Sookie in writing later chapters. Whether that will be enough to satisfy those who made them is another matter. Being more specific than 'she's an x, y, z' is more helpful in that regard.

4\. I learn a lot from talking to readers. Guests often raise good points and occasionally I respond in A/Ns. It feels rude not to, when I reply to everybody else. If you don't want that, perhaps add 'pdr' (please don't reply) or something to your review &amp; I will respect that.

5\. Last week's A/N was a reminder for _everybody_ to be polite. I hope guests keep reviewing. Your opinions are welcome just like anyone else's.

Note: Writers can't turn off guest reviews, but they can hold them for moderation (I don't).

Phew. Now onto the good stuff.

* * *

**Shock Therapy**

* * *

Pam straightened up. "Fuck a zombie. What the bloody hell happened in here?"

"Pam. Leave." It was difficult to sound authoritative from the floor, but I tried.

"What?"

"Leave," I repeated tiredly, with little expectation that she would.

"Eric, what the fuck is going on? You missed a meeting. You weren't answering your phone or my call… Why the hell are you on the floor?" Disbelief crept into her voice. "Did you_ rest _there?"

Ignoring her, I gathered what strength I had and put it all into a command: "Get. Out."

She hissed, struggling futilely for a moment before stepping stiffly backwards. I rolled over, turning my back to her. Once she was out in the corridor she stopped.

I cursed quietly. Of course. Why obey and leave me in peace when she could take advantage of the obvious loophole. She had, literally, got out of the room. She was pacing the corridor, obviously on her phone, cajoling someone quietly. Then she moved rapidly away.

Thank fuck.

But Pam was never a quitter. Ten minutes later I sensed her returning. Then I heard not one but two voices in the corridor.

"… is very wrong. Get in there." Pam, tense.

"Alright. But if this is one of your stupid pranks, I'll fry your ass." Rory. Fucking wonderful.

I pushed myself up to sit against the wall, arms hanging loosely over my knees and hair curtaining my face. The door opened.

"Why are you here?" I asked coldly as Rory came in cautiously.

"Because you can't command _me _to leave."

I scowled at the floor. Boots and jeans came into view. She whistled, low and long, as she turned around.

"This place is a mess. What happened?"

I didn't respond. She knelt down, but I kept my eyes stubbornly on the floor. Why couldn't they just leave me be? A wave of lethargy swept over me.

"Eric, what happened?" she repeated, more urgently.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"Bullshit. Nothing doesn't scare your child out of the few wits she has."

Pam's voice floated in, brittle with false cheer. "He didn't command me to go deaf, fairy."

Irritated at them both, I roused enough will to say firmly, "Just go. Both of you."

"Tell me what happened," Rory demanded.

I gritted out, "No. Leave."

The devious fairy changed tactics, softening her voice. "What is it, Eric? You feel so…"

She reached out to touch me. I knocked her hand away and snapped, "Leave me the fuck alone."

Hissing in shock she stood up. Her voice hard, she said, "No. I'm staying until you answer me. And for pity's sake let Pam in before she paces a hole in the floor."

I raised my head, fangs bared, and growled menacingly.

She snarled right back, undaunted. "Growl all you want, asshole." The air crackled and smelt sharply of ozone. Her eyes darkened, a flame sprang up on her open palm, and she gestured at the remains of the couch with it. "Let Pam in or I set fire to the matchwood."

I growled again, but my heart wasn't in it. We glowered at each other until I conceded defeat, my shoulders slumping. Staying angry was too much fucking effort.

"Come, Pam."

As soon as I uttered her name, Pam was next to Rory, staring down at me. Our connection was closed, but I didn't need it. Worry was etched into her face.

She gestured at the mess. "You did this."

It wasn't a question. I didn't bother to reply.

She folded her arms. "The night before Halloween."

My jaw clenched hard and Rory asked incredulously, "You've been living like this for a month?"

"I've been busy," I hissed, my tone conveying it wasn't any of her fucking business.

Pam and Rory shared a long look that spoke of united purpose. It made me want to crawl into a hole. Rory held up her hands in a gesture of truce. Or a poorly veiled attempt to humour me, which, under normal circumstances, would have me itching to rip off her head.

But I wasn't on the same planet as normal.

"Okay," Rory said. "We get it. You have an enormous… Y chromosome and you're not going to tell us what sparked this orgy of destruction."

Good.

I wasn't sharing the incident with the donor. With anyone. Ever.

Rory knelt down and went on gently, "But you can't stay like this."

I hissed at her, but she wasn't budging. She was going to sit there, patiently waiting me out, all damn night.

Women. Stubborn women. Why the fuck did I surround myself with them? Arguing with them was exhausting. I slumped down against the wall, dropping my head into my hands.

After a long pause, I whispered, "I need rest."

"Yes. I can feel how exhausted you are. But that's not all. Your aura is off. Washed out."

Pam knelt down too. "Eric, when did you last feed?"

"Last…" I blinked. Fuck, I didn't know. I swallowed and hazarded a guess. "Some bagged… Maybe fortnight ago."

Her mouth tightened. "It must be longer. You look like shit."

Fantastic. Always blunt, my Pamela. Probably right. I certainly felt like shit.

She bit into her wrist and held it out. "Take what is yours."

I watched the dark blood welling up, but I didn't move.

"Please."

Pam hated to beg. Knowing it cost her to do so in front of Rory, I took her hand, reluctantly closed my mouth over the wound, and swallowed a mouthful before I let go.

She scowled and shoved her oozing wrist back in my face.

I pushed it away. "I am not hungry."

She began to argue, but Rory interrupted. "He really isn't, Pam."

"I wouldn't know, because I can't feel him." Pam locked eyes with me over her wrist as she licked it clean, an eyebrow raised in challenge. Rory looked between us. Sighing softly, I opened our connection.

Pam's eyes widened. She hissed, "What magic is this? You feel a thousand miles away."

"It's not magic," Rory said, with an ominous frown. "Did the blood help?"

"A little." The numbing fatigue had receded an iota, and my mind was slightly less fogged.

"Hm." Her eyes flitted over me, critical, assessing, professional. "This loss of appetite, is it recent?"

"No," I said uneasily. "A few months."

Pam put in helpfully, "Goro said he's been more short-tempered than usual this last month."

"Hard to say if that's significant," Rory said thoughtfully. "What about other appetites? Lust?"

I shrugged. They looked at each other again. Fuck, I wished they wouldn't do that. It set my fangs on edge.

"This fatigue, was it gradual or abrupt?"

"Abrupt. Last night."

Rory sat back on her heels and mused to herself. "This goes deeper than lack of blood. If you weren't vampire, I'd ask how you've been sleeping."

I twitched – a tiny movement – but, like a pair of hunting falcons scouting for prey, neither of them missed it. Two pairs of eyes drilled into mine. I dropped my head back against the wall with a quiet thud and groaned. I could feel them waiting.

After another silence I admitted grudgingly, "Downtime became unpleasant, after…" I gestured at the mess.

"Unpleasant how?"

"Disordered."

"Is it worsening?"

"I have avoided it since."

Rory was surprised. "You can do that? Are there consequences to skipping it?"

"None that I'm aware of," Pam answered. "We don't have to indulge in it if events are pressing."

"I waited for it last night," I said quietly. "But it never came, only … this." I had no words for the state I was in.

Rory bit her lip pensively for a few moments, then nodded decisively.

"You know what this is?" Pam asked her hopefully.

"Probably. I can't be sure without more information." Throwing me a look that cast the blame for that squarely on me, she got up and dusted her jeans off. "It's not as if vampire psychology is well-studied."

Pam and I stiffened. The ennui, the boredom that ate away at the sanity of ancient vampires, drove them to seek the sun. A condition we all dreaded.

"Don't look so worried. It's not a death sentence." Rory had no idea how good that was to hear, even if her confidence sounded shaky.

"You can fix this?" Pam blurted out.

"I've treated demons with something comparable. Lock the door, would you?"

Pam did as she was asked, too relieved to query her. Rory held her hand out to me. "Come on. Up you get."

Clinging to my tattered pride, I refused her help and levered myself off the floor. Once I was on my feet, she took my hand and tugged me towards the bedroom, calling over her shoulder, "You too, Pam."

Confused, I stopped, jerking Rory to a halt.

"Are we fucking?" I asked dully. The idea didn't fill me with enthusiasm. Or much of anything.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Trust you. No, we're not. No offence Pam, but I'm done experimenting. And I doubt Sebastian would appreciate me messing around with you."

"The demon found his balls," I murmured, strangely envious.

Rory arched an eyebrow. "With a little push, I hear. A peace offering, huh?"

She understood me far too well. Pam shot me a curious look as we followed her into the dark bedroom. Rory halted two steps over the threshold. "Sulphur and brimstone! What died in here?"

The shadows did nothing to hide the smell of month-old blood. Pam flicked the light on and they looked grimly at the upturned bed and broken furniture.

I leaned against the wall by the doorway. "The fridge … ah … met with an unfortunate accident."

Muttering 'Why do I get the untidy ones?' under her breath, Rory marched over and opened the unlucky appliance, covering her nose when the stench hit her. She took a breath through her mouth and chanted a few phrases in fae, making a series of sharp, irritated hand gestures. With a quiet pop the clean scent of lavender filled the room.

Pam risked peering inside. "Spotless. Impressive," she said. "Sebastian is a lucky man."

I heard the dig at me loud and clear.

Rory grimaced, eyeing the overturned bed-frame and the wrecked mattress sagging in the corner. "Sebastian is refreshingly neat. Mercifully. I did enough cleaning up after Cadogan." She made a swift sweeping motion with her hand. The debris from the door and the night-stands shot across the floor, clattering into a tidy heap in the corner.

"Who's Cadogan?" Pam asked as she helped Rory right the bed-frame. "Iron doesn't affect you?"

"Demon metabolism. Great for expelling toxins. Touching it is fine, but don't stab me with it. Cadogan is Connal's father." Rory nudged the frame and it wobbled. "Can you twist this flat?"

I might as well have been the wall I was leaning against for all the attention they were paying me. It was a relief, not fending off questions or seeing concern in their eyes. And oddly comforting, watching them work together so seamlessly.

"Of course, Tinkerbell." The metal complained as Pam warped it back into shape as if it were wire. "Who's Connal?"

Rory turned her attention to the mattress. "My son. He was at Sanctum, back in July. Dark hair, brown eyes."

"Oh. The one glaring daggers at you. I assumed he was an ex."

"Ew! No, that's Connal. Two hundred, acts barely twenty." Concentrating hard, Rory wove another spell. Springs reshaped with a series of twangs and holes in the mattress sealed themselves.

Pam said drily, "If he was mine, I'd have drowned the whelp."

Rory laughed, light and warming. "Oh, he lost an eyebrow or two over that little performance. But they grew back."

"Remind me not to piss you off," Pam drawled as she hefted the mattress, dropping it gently onto the frame. She turned to me. "Sheets?"

"Closet. Top shelf."

As Pam blurred around the bed I rubbed my face. I was wearing last night's clothes and when I ran my fingers through my hair, they snagged on matted tangles. I considered showering, vaguely embarrassed, but frankly I didn't have the energy. At least I'd taken my boots off.

Rory shifted the broken closet door to root inside. She tossed me a thin pair of sweats and I changed silently, discarding my clothes on the floor. Glancing up from tying the drawstring, I saw them exchange another of those looks.

"What?" I asked testily.

Pam grimaced. "You're slower."

Weak. Sluggish. Pathetic. And I felt it. Staring miserably at the floor, I felt the weight of Pam's fear.

Rory coughed.

Lifting my head, I watched blankly as she clicked her fingers. Her jeans and blouse and boots vanished, replaced by green and white striped flannel pyjamas. Green rods appeared in her hair, creating a gorgon's nest of snakes, and her face was slathered with a thick layer of grey mud.

Pam cackled gleefully. "Oh, that's wonderful, Tink. Is this how fairies get their beauty – swamp mud and curlers?"

Rory clicked her fingers again and Pam was drowning in hot pink silk pyjamas several inches too long for her. From the neck up, she matched Rory: curlers snaking in her hair and a mud mask. She blurred into the bathroom, cursing like a sailor.

I smirked after her.

"There's that smile," Rory said softly, coming over. Her face was already mud-free, her hair in a loose braid. Sneaky fairy. She touched my lips. "But it's not real."

Like the pantomime I'd just witnessed. Pam wasn't horrified, despite her loud threats to dismember Rory in the most gruesome ways possible. It was touching, how flawlessly they ad libbed that scene, but it was wasted. I was beyond amusing.

Rory had me sit on the bed. Pam came out of the bathroom clean-faced, combing out her hair. Wordlessly, she sat behind me and worked the tangles out of mine. I winced as she tugged at the knots, remembering her grooming me when I was injured. Before that the last woman to comb my hair was … Sookie. I pushed the bitter-sweet stab of pain away.

Rory sat down beside me, running her hand up and down my arm. Her touch was warm, shockingly so. Was I colder than usual? I leaned into it; the heat seeping into me.

"What are you doing?" Pam asked her.

"Soothing. In the manner of the fae."

"What does it feel like?"

I opened my eyes when Rory stopped. She reached over to stroke the back of Pam's hand. Puzzled, she asked, "Do you feel anything?"

"No." Pam looked at her hand suspiciously. "But it works on Eric?"

"Yes," Rory said pensively, stroking my arm again. I sighed gratefully.

Pam suggested, "Because he thanked you?"

"No." Rory pushed the front of my shoulder. I took the hint, moved up the bed and laid down. Rory knelt next to me, looking at Pam. "I need your assistance. How do vampires comfort each other?"

"Blood and…" Pam glanced at down at my obvious lack of arousal. "Through our connection."

"Do that then. Now."

Pam nodded, filled with determination. Rory lay down and nudged me until I rolled away from her, onto my side. Pam lay down facing me. Rory's hands settled on my bare back, and Pam settled into my blood, sending comfort, tentatively, with an undercurrent of worry. I sent reassurance in return, but it was faint and weak.

Like me. I felt like I'd been drained. My eyes drifted shut.

"More," Rory encouraged. "He needs more."

Pam pressed against me and sent a fierce blast of affection. I soaked it up like a sponge, wrapping my arms around her. She sent more, tinged with admiration, respect. Rory made long rhythmic strokes from my shoulders to my waist, warming my back with tingling magic.

After a while, my shoulders relaxed. The fatigue began to ease. I opened my eyes when Pam whispered in Norse.

"_Dawn is coming_. _Drink, maker._"

She bared her neck. I bit gently, savouring the taste as her cool blood welled up onto my tongue. Apples, sweet and sharp. That was how Pam always tasted to me. Sweet and sharp. I forced myself to draw deeply three times before the wound closed. Pam shivered against my chest.

"Good. Your aura is stronger," Rory said softly. "The next part will be difficult. Pam, don't stop."

Rory's hands stilled over my shoulder blades. I felt a… tug, pulling gently on something deep inside me. Something my instincts were telling me not to let go. I shifted, but Rory kept her hands pressed firmly against me.

"That feels… wrong."

"Suck it up," she said, her voice tight. "It's the only way."

Pam bolstered me with her strength. Using it to fight the urge to pull away from Rory, I tightened my arms around Pam, burying my face in her neck as the tugging increased.

Flickers of rage and frustration lit up inside me. Shit. If I snapped I could hurt… I fought for control, shepherding the rogue emotions behind the mental wall I had constructed, but it was like carrying sand in a sieve. The wall was softening, leaking.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, as a burst of sheer fury hit me.

"You need this," Rory said hoarsely.

I struggled to tamp down the anger, rebuild the wall. Rory's breath came in pants. The tugging intensified.

"Eric," she gasped. "Stop fighting me."

I hesitated.

"Trust me."

Gritting my teeth, I stopped resisting.

The wall crumbled.

A tide of anger and hostility washed over me. I clung to Pam as it ebbed and darkened to loneliness and despair. Pam snarled, feeling the turmoil washing through me second-hand. Her grip tightened and she sent more strength, but it was tainted with her fear and it was a drop compared to the ocean closing over me.

My throat tightened. My chest ached. My eyes stung.

Fuck no. I would not break down. I would not. I clenched my fists behind Pam's back, clenched my jaw, bit my tongue hard, fighting down the raw pain swamping me.

I shook with the effort. Dawn was close. Only a few more minutes.

Pam's presence in my blood faded out, the sun pulling her away. Without her, I was holding on by the thinnest of threads. A wave of black despondency almost took me.

"Stop," I hissed urgently to Rory, not caring that my voice shook, cracked. "Stop."

"Let go," Rory pleaded. She brushed a kiss to my neck even as her hands pressed relentlessly against my back.

Despair crashed over me. Choking on it, I pushed Pam's dead weight away and rolled onto my front. Overwhelmed, drowning, I pressed my face to the pillow, muffling the sounds I didn't want to hear, that I didn't want anyone to hear.

Long minutes later dawn took me and I sank gratefully into death.

…

I rose flat on my back.

My eyes snapped open at the unexpected change in position. Instantly several things crowded my awareness: I was on my bed, in my room. The bed was warm. My face was damp. I smelt lavender, soap, coffee. The exhaustion, the terrible lethargy was gone. I was lighter in my skin. A little peckish even, for the first time in weeks.

Coffee?

I lifted my head. Pam was next to me, unmoved. Someone was in the bathroom, splashing water. Rory. I expected her to be gone.

Fuck. Pam would wake soon. Dawn. The pillow. I sat up, searching. Where was it?

The bathroom door opened and I froze.

Rory came out, humming softly to herself and carrying a towel. "Hey," she said when she saw I was up. I found, disconcertingly, that I couldn't quite meet her eyes. She came around the bed, sat beside me, and gently patted my face dry.

She had washed me. While I was dead.

My eyes flickered shut, hiding my shame. Then I remembered she could sense it and automatically started to lock it away.

"Don't," she said sharply.

My eyes opened into a fierce, demanding stare. A stare with no trace of pity.

"Don't suppress your feelings," she explained. "It will trigger a relapse."

I was dismayed. I had never experienced anything like the fugue state I'd been trapped in, and I didn't want to ever again. But feelings were what caused it in the first place, and, perhaps obstinately, I didn't want to give up my go-to coping mechanism.

"I mean it, Eric," she said firmly. "And no more avoiding downtime."

"I have to stay in control, Sorcha," I protested, gesturing angrily at the mess in the corner. "Next time it might not be furniture. Losing my temper is not an option."

"Neither is slipping back into ketraka."

"Ketraka?"

"A demon term. Melancholia."

I stiffened. "You think I am… depressed?" I didn't know whether to scoff at the ridiculous idea or feel insulted.

She counted off on her fingers. "No appetite, low libido, disturbed sleep – well, downtime – lethargy, irritability. The cap fits."

I leaned back against the headboard and folded my arms. "Downtime is not sleep."

"Dreams are a way to process events. Surely downtime performs a similar function."

Given the nightmare quality mine had assumed she might be correct, but I wasn't admitting it. Yet. I ran my hand through my hair. "What did you do to me last night? It was extremely unpleasant."

"It was no picnic for me either. Absorbing whatever was strangling your aura, blocking your psyche."

Fuck. The wall containing my fucking unruly feelings. Since the donor incident, I had sequestered every unwanted emotion in that deep secret place where I'd hidden things from my maker, relying heavily on a technique I'd used for centuries.

Too heavily.

Now I was lucid, I could see that. I scowled down at the bed. The numbness, the emotional fog – it was my own fucking fault.

But I'd done it under Ocella's thumb for far longer and never had a problem. Why now?

As if she understood Rory said, "You've had a tough decade."

"I've had tougher centuries." I pointed out drily.

"You had more to lose this time," she countered. "A measure of freedom and satisfaction. After the Revelation, you bounced from crisis to crisis. Curses, bombings, takeovers. Oklahoma. Losing a maker, a child. A lot of shit hit the fan in a short time."

I couldn't refute that. And I took Louisiana on the tail of that shit storm, when all I wanted to do was get away, regroup. I should have heeded that instinct.

"So, what precipitated this?" Rory gestured at the empty doorway, towards the mess in the other room.

My arms tightened reflexively against my chest, warding the blow.

Rory grimaced. "Or should that be who?"

I hated she could read me so well.

Sookie.

Her name stirred things in my chest I wanted to yank out. I clenched my fists, resisting the temptation to lock it all down as usual, but I craved the clarity that brought me. Cold logic was so much easier than this.

Rory moved to sit beside me, her back against the wall. "I've been waiting for that shoe to drop."

Losing Sookie was painful, but… I admitted quietly, "It is more than that."

She waited patiently for me to continue. I rubbed my face, feeling the walls close in, the weight of the house above me, the burden I'd taken on. Picking some imaginary lint off the sheet between us, I said gruffly, "I am trapped. Like Oklahoma. Worse; it is my own doing. I should not have become king."

She looked at me in surprise. "You hate it that much?"

"Enough." I shrugged, raising my knees and resting my arms on them.

"Why do it then? For Sookie?"

I glanced at Pam, still dead to the world. "No. Not entirely. Louisiana needed a change of leader." I added morosely, "Bartlett should have picked someone else."

He would have if he knew Sookie was still my Achilles' heel. And I'd kept her relationship to Niall from him. He must have worked that out. I wondered how pissed he was.

"You're a good leader, Eric. Your people respect you."

"I would not have chosen to take the throne now." If ever.

"Why?"

"The curse of living in interesting times. The fundamentalists, the BSA, human politics… All too volatile. A melting pot. And the uncertainty has powerful vampires like de Castro snatching at power wherever they can."

Rory didn't let me hide behind politics. She prompted, "You feel trapped. How?"

"Apart from the target on my back?" I grimaced. "My actions are not my own."

"Sure. You have to act for Louisiana. What else?"

"I have guards, an entourage, a court I don't want. Millstones around my neck. The paperwork alone bores me to tears."

"Ugh. I hear you there. Try health insurance forms. And?"

"I loathe playing nice for the humans almost as much as I loathe dealing with the short-sighted posturing and stupidity of my own kind."

"Uh-huh," she said encouragingly.

I warmed to my topic. "I hate living in a glass bowl. The gossip. Distrusting everyone around me. Being watched, overseen. That conniving bitch from the BSA threatened a donor into accusing me of abuse. Me. In my own home. It was sheer luck that he stood up to her. Otherwise that would have been another fucking disaster." I added bitterly, "Like Tennessee."

All the bullshit I waded through nightly and I had no fucking influence over that situation. I hated being helpless more than anything.

Still lying on the pillows besides me, Pam asked, "You fed from a male?"

Rory peered around me. "That's what you took from all that? How long have you been awake?"

Pam sat up, smoothing her hair down. "Long enough to hear that you distrust _everyone _around you, Maker mine."

"Obviously he didn't mean us."

Pam cocked an eyebrow at Rory. "Us? That's presumptuous of you."

Rory raised both her eyebrows. "Says the vampire who died for the day in front of me." She looked at me. "But I haven't exactly been around, have I? I knew something was wrong, but I let my anger get the better of me. I'm sorry I stayed away." She nudged me with her shoulder. "See? I can apologise. Out loud."

I nudged her back. "It must be easy when you have to do it so often."

Rory groaned. "You're such a stubborn arse."

Pam was watching us with a strange expression. "I thought you were just working too hard. I had no idea you were… unhappy. Why didn't you confide in me?" She searched my face. "Do you still trust me Eric?"

I felt her uncertainty, her doubt.

"I do," I said firmly, reaching over to take her hand. "We're king and sheriff now. I was allowing you space to make Area 5 your own."

But mostly I hadn't told her how miserable I was because she was so enthusiastic about me ruling and I didn't want to disappoint her. Pam was more ambitious for me than I was. She could feel I was holding something back, and guessed, wrongly, what it was.

"I've been a bitch for months. But I would never let a squabble over… a breather come between us. Not if you needed me. You know that."

Did I? She had been so angry about Sookie leaving, and it wasn't my fault, not entirely. I hadn't enjoyed being at odds with her. Or Rory. The timing had sucked. I had needed them. Both of them.

"You're here now," I said. "That's all that matters."

We sat in companionable silence for a while, until Pam said flatly, "I don't like feeling you like this."

"Me either," Rory agreed. "When was the last time you had some fun, Eric?"

"I am beginning to think kings don't have fun."

"You could take some time off," Pam suggested.

"Out of the question. The first year is always the riskiest, you know that. Every vampire in the state is relying on me to keep a cool head."

"You were no use to them last night," Pam pointed out bluntly.

"My time is not my own. There are things I have to do."

"So?" Rory cut in. "You're the king. And don't you have a reputation as a maverick?"

"I do," I said slowly.

"So break the rules. Take time off. Healer's orders." She added sternly, "And no bottling things up."

"Feed once a week too," Pam added.

"Spare me from nagging women," I grumbled, rolling my eyes but secretly enjoying their fussing. It was much better than being in the doghouse.

"The next few nights are critical," Rory said.

"I can stay most of tonight," Pam offered.

"And I'll make time tomorrow. When are you next in Shreveport, Eric?"

"Friday." Four night's time.

"Good. Come see both of us," Rory advised. "Until then, give your emotions free rein, as much as possible. Call if there's any hint of a relapse."

"Agreed," I said, sighing.

"Now that's sorted out," Pam said briskly, "it's time to clean this place up." She glanced down at her pyjamas. "Tinkerbell, I need my clothes. And my phone."

"In the other room."

"I'll be back with supplies." She wrinkled her nose at me. "And shower while I'm gone. You reek."

She dodged the pillow I threw at her and blurred out of the room.

"That was abrupt," Rory said, frowning after her.

"Pam doesn't dwell."

"She's hiding how upset she is by being practical," she said disapprovingly. "Like someone else I know."

"It's a gift," I said, getting up to retrieve the pillow.

Rory nodded at it when I tossed it back on the bed. "The other one is soaking in the sink." She wiggled her fingers. "Bit low on cleaning mojo."

"Ah." An unwelcome reminder of my… breakdown. I sat on the end of the bed, my back to her, embarrassed.

"You hung on till dawn. You didn't want Pam to see."

"Or you."

"We can pretend I didn't."

"I… didn't expect you to stay the day." I glanced back at her.

She pulled a face. "Neither did I. I was so depleted I didn't wake up much before you. I almost slipped a disc rolling you over."

I was too uncomfortable to find that amusing. "Do you need to be somewhere else, Sorcha? Eat? I have a cook, upstairs."

She shook her head. "Day off. I had just enough magic left to summon breakfast."

"I smelt the coffee."

She chuckled. "There might be crumbs in the bed too. I was ravenous. Didn't think that coffee through – thank goodness you have a functional toilet down here. Paper too, I'm impressed."

I blinked at her, got up and walked into the bathroom to stare at the toilet like I'd never seen one. A roll of paper hung beside it. Rory must've put it there. I opened the cupboard under the sink in a daze.

Toilet paper. Two packs.

I picked one up and stared at it in disbelief until I sensed Rory watching from the doorway. Without looking at her I put it carefully away, like a grenade that might explode any second.

I said quietly, "I'll take that shower."

Rory retreated, pulling the door shut with a soft click and leaving me to my scrambled thoughts.

Under the spray all I thought was: A year.

A fucking year. I'd been deluding myself for almost a whole year.

I still loved her. I knew that. Even after months ignoring it, denying it, trying to shake it. I knew it was still there. What truly froze my blood was while I was consciously doing everything I could to forget her, I had designed my hidden quarters with indoor plumbing and stocked the fucking bathroom for a human.

No. Not just any human. No more delusions.

For Sookie.

I hadn't even fucking noticed. Oh, I'd hidden my innermost desires from my maker before. But not from myself. Never from myself. If that didn't qualify as madness…

I laughed hollowly. After last night's psychotic break, I was questioning my sanity over fucking toilet paper. I sagged against the tiles as the significance hit me: I never gave up hope.

That embrace after I'd been healed. The way she was all over me when she was drugged. That was all it took to keep a spark alive in some secret place. Never mind that I hadn't seen her for months, that our last conversation was one of the most painful I'd ever had. Including ones with my psychopathic maker.

Never mind that she'd run from me, my territory, to be with another.

Was I ever going to stop clutching at straws when it came to Sookie? That had turned out so well last time, kidding myself she actually–

Angry and frustrated, I snatched up the shampoo. I _was_ fucking crazy. Crazy to repeat the same mistake. Crazy to hope after centuries of witnessing humanity's fickle nature.

…

I came out of the bathroom in a towel. Rory was sitting on the bed in jeans and a blouse, looking at her phone. Subdued, I pulled on a pair of sweats and an old Fangtasia t-shirt.

"Pam's rounding up some furniture," she announced, slipping the phone into her pocket and eyeing me. "That shoe dropped pretty hard, huh?"

"Apparently." I sat on the bed, my back to her again, and looked my hands.

"Wanna talk?"

"No."

After a minute of silence she said, "The fae have a saying. Love, like a crying baby, won't be silenced until it gets what it wants."

"Is there any chance you might be silent?"

"Demons have one, too. Love is a vine that roots in the smallest crack, and can split the hardest heart. They have choker vines there that can break granite, you know."

I flopped backwards onto the bed with a groan, throwing my arm over my face. "Not. Helping."

I could still hear her.

"Not in the mood for ancient wisdom? The plain truth, then. The love you have for her is too big, too wild to stay wherever the hell it is you've shoved everything for the last ten centuries. You hit capacity, blew a fuse."

I muttered, "How long until I can–"

"Be cold and logical again?"

"Have some privacy around you, I was going to say."

She chuckled. Hard-hearted fairy. "Soon, I think. You're more yourself already."

"Yes, I feel _so _much better," I said.

"You do. I've felt more animated rocks than you last night. Honestly, you scared the shit out of me. I haven't felt anything like that since–"

I heard her swallow and lifted my arm to look at her. She was upset. I sat up with a sigh.

"You said demons. Your father?"

She nodded. "After my mother was killed. I almost lost him. The worst case I've ever seen. Took everything I had to snap him out of it. Last night was eerily familiar." She tried to smile. "He didn't die for the day though, so no back injuries."

I regarded her steadily for a moment, then deliberately sent her a pulse of gratitude.

"You're welcome," she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and the ring she was wearing caught the light. It was old, a warm green stone that matched her eyes.

"Sebastian?" I asked, catching her hand and hoping to turn the conversation to more pleasant things.

"Yes." She admired it. "Lovely, isn't it? Very valuable. Rare."

Demons didn't give away that kind of thing on a whim. "Does giving a ring have some meaning amongst demons?"

"Oh, not especially," she said, shrugging. "It's not like we opened negotiations. Yet."

Marriage negotiations. And she sounded… hopeful.

"It's serious, then?" I asked. I shouldhave asked him what his intentions were. If he was toying with her, I'd rip his head off.

She smiled to herself. "Fairly."

I was surprised. They'd only known each other a few months, as far as I knew. "Do you love him?" I said evenly.

"You think it's too soon."

"Perhaps."

"Not for me. I know, I know. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Giving it away too quickly has always been my problem. But I knew of him in the demon realm. From my half-brother."

"Is he… well-liked?"

"Yes. Don't worry." She patted my hand reassuringly. "Sebastian is a good man. He reminds me of Nestor, only there's more," she wiggled her eyebrows, "heat between us, if you catch my drift."

"You married Nestor." Without the heat.

"I'm something of a serial monogamist." She shrugged. "If Sebastian becomes my fourth husband, we will be happy for a good few decades I think."

"You will be. Or the world will be short a demon lawyer."

She grinned. "That's very gallant of you, but I don't need protecting. Not any more." She looked at me closely. "Something else?"

She hadn't been shy about prying into my relationships. "You were with Connal's father for much longer."

"Yes. Cad was my grand passion. I won't have that again." Her eyes were dark with memories. "But I've grieved long enough."

I blinked. Fifty years was a long time to mourn.

"I'm healed. My heart is a butterfly again, flitting between blossoms, easy and light." She sighed. "Truthfully, I'm a little jealous. You, my friend, love much more deeply. As my father did." She laid hand on my chest. "You don't give this away lightly, but when you do your love is passionate and lasting."

I looked down at her hand, my hair hiding my face. I loved a woman who didn't want me. I didn't want it to last. I swallowed. "Memnon. How long did he…?"

"Grieve my mother?"

I nodded, looking up warily.

"Truly?" She bit her lip, then admitted softly, "The rest of his life."

Four centuries. Fuck. I shouldn't ask things I didn't want to know. Like what my face showed then that made her pull me into a tight embrace. I buried my face in her hair, clenching my jaw against a pathetic swell of self-pity. Once I was calm, I pulled back, ready to thank her and damn the consequences.

She stopped me with a finger over my lips. "There's no need. You are kin."

What? Completely confused I asked, "Kin?"

"I worked it out. Our connection." Her eyes crinkled. "It's kinship. We are family."

"I…" Was that what it was? "We are?"

"I believe so."

"How? We have no blood in common."

"No. We chose each other instead. Maybe that is better. Blood kin hasn't always worked out so well for me."

"How?" I repeated. I'd never heard of such a thing. Although I supposed turning a child was a somewhat similar concept.

She shrugged. "No idea. Stranger things have happened."

Yes, they had. What she was suggesting wasn't the most improbable thing I'd come across. After chewing it over I asked, "What makes you think this?"

"I can soothe you. Fae magic is living; you are dead. It shouldn't work, but I'm more than fae. I thought the demon in me spoke to your blood. Yet it didn't work on Pam."

Pam, my blood. "Can fae only soothe their kin?"

"No, but the closer the blood, the easier it is. With you, it's like it was with my mother. As if we are brother and sister."

I grimaced and reminded her, "We fucked."

"Well, I _am _part-fae. We're a sensual race." She smirked at my unease. "What? Aren't vampire siblings intimate?"

"Ocella never gave me a sister." Or demanded that with my brothers. Although, if he thought it would help Alexei… I'd dodged an axe blow to the face there. Feeding him my blood and having to feel the insane little shit was horror enough.

"I mistook it for something physical when we met. And you needed comfort that night." She tilted her head, frowning. "We could be kissing cousins, if you find that more palatable."

"Siblings," I said thoughtfully. I had two human sisters. I stilled, dredging my memories, comparing the feelings I had for them to what I felt for Sorcha. The closeness, the protectiveness, the teasing… It fitted.

I stared at her in awe. "Systir."

"Deartháir," she whispered, her eyes glistening as she put her hand over my heart.

I covered it with my own, thinking hard. I knew exactly where the dagger from Rhodes was. "There is something I would ask of you. An old loyalty ritual amongst my kind."

…

When Pam returned, pink from a meal, Sorcha and I were sat cross-legged on the bed, the black velvet bundle between us. Pam stopped nonchalantly in the doorway as if we couldn't feel her shock and confusion.

"What's going on?"

I ignored her and answered Sorcha. "Swearing an oath this way is considered stronger than swearing fealty, more personal. It is meant to bind vampires as if they shared a maker."

Pam froze.

Sorcha said, "I am honoured to do this with you, Eric Northman."

I unwrapped the knife, grasped it and opened my left forearm with a quick slash, elbow to wrist. I passed it to her, hilt first. She didn't hesitate to mirror my action, barely wincing as the knife parted her creamy flesh. Her blood smelt metallic, coppery. Neither one thing nor the other: not sweet and intoxicating like fae blood, not sharp and acid like demon blood. My fangs itched, but I held them back.

She laid the knife down. I reached across and clasped her elbow, pressing our forearms together, wound to wound. She clasped mine in turn, her grip firm.

I said slowly, "I take you as my sister in blood. Let this bind us until my final death."

Eyes shining with a fierce joy she replied, "I take you as my brother in blood and of the heart. Let this bind us until I draw my last breath and return to the dirt."

She placed her free hand on my chest. Copying her, I placed my palm over the steady beat of her heart. Her eyes were warm green pools fixed on mine. I held still for a full minute despite the tingling I was beginning to feel from the contact with her blood.

I let go, smiling widely. "Welcome to the family, Sorcha."

"That's it? No blood drinking?"

"That gives vampires power over each other. The exchange is symbolic."

"Oh." She looked at the blistered wound on my arm. "That will scar."

I shrugged, unconcerned. I didn't care.

She glanced at her own wound, still slick with blood. Her eyes snapped back to mine and she raised her arm, saying solemnly, "Brother. Take this gift, freely given."

I blinked. Pam shifted slightly, and I heard her fangs click down, but she stayed put.

"Sister, I am honoured by your gift." Refusing would be an insult. And I was curious to taste it.

I cupped Sorcha's arm with both hands, steadying it. She held still, even when my fangs snapped down as I lowered my face. Careful not to scratch her, I licked along the slash, sealing it and cleaning every drop of blood from her velvet skin. I release her arm, sat up and swallowed. My head fell back, my eyes closing. It was potent, rich, heavy. Spicy and sweet and sharp all at once, stinging my throat and mouth, just this side of painful.

After the high had peaked I ran my tongue over my teeth and sucked the roof of my mouth, trying to dispel the odd sensation.

Pam said drily, "You must taste bad, Tinkerbell."

"Is it burning?" Sorcha asked anxiously.

"No. It… buzzes. Like a mouthful of bees." I wiped my tongue on the back of my hand.

She laughed delightedly. "Like popping candy." Her eyes fell on my still-bloodied arm. "May I?" she asked boldly.

I warned, "I'll be able to sense you. Track you."

"Only fair. I can track you with my mark."

I held out my arm. She didn't hesitate. Her tongue was warm, wet, and firm. When she finished she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, her pupils blown and her cheeks flushed. She was there, in my blood, relaxed and very happy.

"You pack a punch, brother. Smoother than bourbon." She smacked her lips and giggled, a lovely sound. "Does this make me Pam's aunty?"

"No. But I might command her to call you that if she pisses me off."

Pam muttered, "Stake me now."

Sorcha laughed, doubling over. Her phone rang and she answered it, her face lighting up. I felt her swell of affection.

"Hey, Sebbie… Of course, sweetheart. Give me half an hour… See you there."

She grinned. "You'll have to clean up without me. I have a hot date." She stood up, stretching gracefully. "Mmm. I feel wonderful. Thanks." She pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, and playfully tugged my hair. "Call if you need me."

I smirked. "You're tipsy."

She winked. "You betcha. Sebastian is in for a wild ride."

Once she had gone, Pam raised an eyebrow at me. "Sister. Is that some fairy version of the friend zone?"

"No. It's what she is to me."

She stared at me. "You're serious."

"Yes."

She shook her head and threw me a roll of trash bags. "Whatever. Let's make a start."

I groaned. I loathed cleaning. "Can't we glamour a human to do this?" I suggested, half-serious. It would be a security risk, unfortunately.

She smirked. "No. And don't think I'm doing it all. Your mess, you pick it up. It'll be therapeutic, transcendent even. Cleanse the room, cleanse the soul."

I snorted. "Like you believe that New Age bullshit. I could command you to–"

"Oh hell no. I'd need to suck whatever vein you've been tapping dry to swallow that bullshit." She mumbled, "A fairy for a sister. You must be high as kite."

She was more relieved than annoyed. So was I. She was teasing me. Things were right between us again.

Clearing the debris didn't take long. Filling the dents in the wall was a drag, but it wasn't the first time I'd done that. We manhandled some replacement furniture down the hidden passage, gossiping as we worked. I'd missed that. I told her Neb was Salome's maker, knowing I could trust her to keep it to herself.

"They're powerful together. Are you sure he's loyal?"

"Neb? He's been supportive so far. He doesn't seem ambitious. Likes a quiet life."

"He turned Salome."

Hm. Neb's comment about daughters and trouble. With a smirk I conceded, "Maybe not that quiet."

"What about her?"

"Salome is all about money, a true businesswoman. She wants stability. As long as I'm providing it, she'll be loyal."

"Even after Mickey?"

"Oh yes. She was furious with the ungrateful little shit."

Pam grinned wolfishly. "I wish I'd seen her stake him." She plugged in the last lamp and looked around the room, hands on her hips. "I think we're done. You'll have to wait to paint the walls."

"You should go."

"I could stay," she offered, trying to sound off-hand.

Not anxious. Which she was. I'd damped our connection, but she knew all my tells and my mood had darkened. I wasn't looking forward to being alone either, but asking her to stay would just delay the inevitable.

"Go home, Pam."

"Let me feel you then."

"You won't feel much from Shreveport."

"It'll be enough."

"As you wish." I opened our connection and her face fell. She set her jaw and marched over to pull me into a tight embrace. I basked in the strength she sent thrumming into my blood, sending my affection and gratitude back as I hugged her.

"Call if you need me," she whispered. "I'll see you Friday."

"You will," I promised, kissing her hair.

...


	21. Turning the Tide

Hi all. Thanks for all the reviews &amp; follows - especially Jackie69 &amp; Suzi.

*Waves to old man* - most of us are anonymous to some degree on here. Are we up to petabytes? I think that's coming. Data, data everywhere. Like too many TV channels, and nothing you want to watch.

Here's today's chapter. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Turning the Tide**

* * *

_The vampire disintegrated around my sword. I snarled in frustration as another took his place. Even with Pam and Rory at my side, I couldn't break through the faceless mass. And time was running out._

_Yasmin was inching up behind Tennessee. Too slowly._

_I roared in frustration when he whirled round to face her, somehow keeping a grip on the woman struggling in his arms. He pulled a stake from his sleeve and plunged it onto Yasmin's chest. Her eyes met mine as she crumbled to dust soundlessly, take my last hope with her._

"_So much for your worthless spy." Tennessee jeered at me, dropping his stake. "Now I can take what is mine."_

_Sookie struggled desperately against him, our eyes meeting briefly as the bastard sank his fangs into her neck. When she slumped in his arms, he pulled back, triumphant, fangs dripping blood and mouth smeared red._

_But it wasn't Tennessee. Shorter hair, broader face, darker eyes…_

_Ocella._

_My blood froze._

"_What did I teach you child? No human can love us," my Maker sneered. "They cannot love what they cannot understand. We are so far above them. _**Come here.**_"_

_The command overtook me, its icy grasp dragging me from where I stood. Ocella whispered, "End her."_

_Sookie's eyes snapped open. I bit, tearing into her neck. Red life sprayed out of her–_

"No!" I bellowed, jack-knifing forward.

Water sloshed out of the bathtub, splattering onto the floor. I looked around wildly for a split second, confused.

Shit. Grimly, I shook the realistic images out of my head and leaned back against the tub. I had run a scalding hot bath shortly after Pam left, hoping the heat would ease me into downtime and give me some answers. Now I had two: Downtime was still fucked up. And the latest nightmarish episode, much to my dismay, proved Rory's theory.

My subconscious – did vampires have one? It was news to me – was definitely hijacking downtime. My own mind fucking with me was troubling enough, but worse, it meant only self-examination would straighten things out.

I hated untying Gordian emotional knots even more than I hated having feelings in the first fucking place.

The knowledge weighed me down and I slid to the bottom of the tub, staring up through the water at the wavering ceiling. I sighed heavily, watching bubbles of expelled air ripple the silvery surface above me.

It was peaceful under the water. And there was no time like the present. I had an hour to kill before dawn. I began shifting through the 'nightmares' I'd had so far, digging deep for hidden meanings. By the time the water was cold, I had a mixed bag of insights.

Pam's unreasonable anger was a repeated theme. It had thrown me. I should have forced the issue, cleared the air, but I let it fester. With Rory, I was entirely to blame. It was pride, plain and simple, that stopped me seeking her out to end our argument.

My subconscious had been prodding me to fix things with both of them. Last night I had done that. Not exactly by my own efforts, but still. Two knots resolved. Pleasingly, the peace I'd made with Rory and Pam had already spilt over into my personal horror channel. They fought by my side in this latest vision, not against me.

This latest 'episode' oozed guilt, though. An emotion I didn't succumb to often.

Yasmin, for instance. Sending her into the lion's den was dangerous. I pushed her out of sight, out of mind, on a mission that could easily end her, all so I did not have to acknowledge the similarities between our turnings, or the reminders of Ocella's long dominion over me.

I couldn't take that back. She was in Tennessee, what was done was done.

The scenes with Sookie sprang not from fear for her safety, but from the same treacherous emotion: guilt. Her eyes as I drained her this time were tear-filled and accusing. The look they held during our argument at Sanctum, and it had cut me just as deeply as then. Knowing that she felt I had broken faith with her by leaving for Oklahoma had been eating away at me ever since.

Guilt and regret. Regret that I said nothing at Sanctum, played the hard-hearted bastard, made no move to comfort her.

That knot might prove impossible to tease out. I could see no way to make it right with her. And she would not thank me for trying, not now she was with the tiger.

...

Geraldine looked up from her desk when I emerged from my office at sunset. "Good evening, Mr Northman," she said, a small smile on her lips.

"Good evening, Geraldine. Give me a moment to sync my new phone." A present from Pam, I found it waiting on my desk. The latest model. I frowned down at it as I accessed the bluetooth function and put in the password to access the office system. A few seconds later my schedule appeared.

"Miss Kingfisher called," Geraldine said. "I pencilled her in for ten."

"That's fine," I murmured, speed-reading through three nights worth of messages. My shoulders tightened as the invisible yoke of power settled back onto them.

Goro arrived. "Kikugoro," I said with a nod in his direction, flicking through the pile of mail Geraldine had just handed me.

"Kitajin-sama," he replied, bowing deeply. I was wearing jeans and a Fangtasia t-shirt in defiance of expectations. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed the faint new scar running down my forearm. He added, "You had a pleasant weekend, I trust."

There was a gleam of curiosity in his eyes, which I ignored, gesturing for him to follow me into the office. We got straight down to business. Nothing drastic. Mostly routine. Goro tactfully didn't point out that the kingdom had barely noticed my absence.

I took a walk around the grounds to make my presence felt, Goro a respectful shadow at my shoulder, ready with a piercing stare and quiet contempt for any guard not up to his exacting standards. I played the relaxed and magnanimous king. Our usual good cop, bad cop routine. Tedious.

We were back in the office discussing one of the guards when Geraldine buzzed the intercom to announce Rory. Goro tensed slightly, but said nothing. Her presence here, where he rested, put him on edge. He excused himself as she came in.

I wished I could follow him. He wasn't the only one she unsettled tonight. Rory hugged me once we were alone. She pulled back, smiling, but her eyes were sharp. "How are you, brother?"

"You know how I am, sister," I said, resigned to an uncomfortable couple of hours. She would want to _talk_.

"Hmm," she said, rubbing my arm absently. "What's a fairy to do in a house full of vampires? I know, show me this gilded cage of yours. I haven't seen the place."

I blinked. "Really?" I asked suspiciously.

"Yes."

I shrugged and held out my arm.

When she left an hour later I was in a far better frame of mind, her wild laughter still ringing in my ears.

We had ended our tour on the roof, stargazing. It was clear, crisp night and I couldn't resist grabbing her and launching into the sky. She was delighted by the impromptu flight, and her joy made me smile. Before that we had been all over the house and she had been introduced to just about every vampire on duty, draped over my arm to reinforce that she was my personal guest, off-limits to them all.

Goro was waiting stiffly outside my office, no doubt ready to lecture me on the security risk Rory presented. He mistrusted her: he, like all the supernaturals on staff, saw her as fae, despite the illusion she cast to disguise herself as human and her lack of scent.

Goro deserved an explanation. To kill two birds, I gestured for Geraldine to follow us into the office. Leaning against the desk I watched them as I spoke. "Miss Kingfisher will be here more often. Treat her as you would Pam. Full access to me, any time." Goro's face remained a smooth unreadable mask, but Geraldine's eyebrows flicked up. "Something bothering you, Geraldine? Speak freely."

"She's very..." She cleared her throat. "Nice. I'm a little surprise, is all. She's not blonde."

I said airily, "Variety is the spice."

She leaned forward a little, dropping her voice. "She's more than she seems, isn't she? Not quite … human."

"Not exactly," I said, amazed she had picked that up through Rory's glamour.

"What is she?" she breathed, an excited gleam in her eye.

"Dangerous. But trusted. That is all you need to know. Goro, make sure the staff understands to disrespect her is to disrespect me." I added in Japanese, _"She is my blood sister, but keep that to yourself."_

His eyes flicked down to my arm and he asked carefully, _"Is that prudent, given her origins?"_

I raised an eyebrow.

"_A thousand apologies for my impertinence." _He switched to English. "As you wish, Dono. I will inform the guards."

Geraldine looked between us, picking up on our seriousness with another whip-sharp burst of that intuition that had inspired me to hire her.

"This is a big deal to y'all," she said slowly. "Should I be congratulating you?"

"Ah. Not that sort of deal. Miss Kingfisher is, ah, dating Mithradates."

"Your lawyer?" She hummed in approval. "She has good taste, I'll say that."

More light-hearted than I'd been in months, I mimed clutching my heart. "Geraldine, how could you?"

Momentarily shocked, she quickly rose to the challenge. "Oh, I appreciated the view, Eric. Every inch of it," she drawled, shooting me a playful wink. "But I prefer 'em dark and mysterious."

Goro's eyes were saucers. I almost laughed, which was somewhat of a shock after the events of the weekend. He stared at Geraldine like he'd never seen her before, examining her head to toe.

"How do you feel about dark and exotic?" he asked slyly, and she blushed.

"Oh, Mr Takahashi, that's very flattering, but I'm–" She slapped a hand over her mouth.

"What? Too tall for me?" Goro shook his head, feigning a disappointed tone but winking at me. "You see Eric? I'm too short for American women. They don't realise exquisite delicacies come in tiny bites."

"Oh no!" Geraldine said hurriedly. "That's not it at all. It's just... I was about to say I'm too old for you, but that's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Age is much respected in my parent culture," Goro said solemnly, then broke into a wide, leering grin. "The older the woman, the more ways she knows to ride the bull."

She stared at him in shock. It wasn't often Goro showed any expression around humans, much less his wicked and often filthy sense of humour. Then she recovered. "Oh hush. You're teasing me. I know you prefer men."

He shrugged. "I can be flexible. If the woman is talented. Is she, Eric?"

"Goro," I said mock-sternly, "quit harassing my staff and get back to work."

"That good you want to keep her to yourself, eh?" He left, chuckling.

Geraldine watched him go. She shook her head."He's a dark horse, that one." She smiled warmly at me. "It's nice to have you back, Eric."

"Get me the files for tomorrow."

"Yes sir. Coming right up."

…..

The rest of the week was calm. Except for the hour I spent safely locked in my quarters before each dawn. The nightmares were lessening in intensity, but they were still there, waiting for me.

I met Pam at Fangtasia on Friday, as planned. We went over the Area accounts, then spent a pleasant hour in the bar gossiping until closing. I made an effort to be upbeat, and by the time I left for Rory's – as late as I feasibly could – Pam had relaxed enough that she didn't protest when I damped our connection.

I didn't want her to feel whatever talking to Rory stirred up.

But Rory didn't want to talk. After greeting me with a warm embrace, she led me down to the lake and began removing her clothes. I stood stock still. What the hell she was doing?

She grinned at me. "Can't swim, brother? It's not like you need to hold your breath."

"Not too cold for you? It's winter," I said, kicking off my shoes and undoing my jeans. A swim was fine with me.

"In Louisiana? I've swum in far colder waters. Come on," she said impatiently, throwing her underwear on top of her discarded clothes. "Last one in is a loser."

Feeling a blast of pure mischief from her I stripped at full speed. Before I could take a step towards the water, she popped over the lake and, with a whoop, cannonballed down into it.

Drops of water splattered me to the sound of her laughter.

Cheating fairy.

Determined to have the last laugh, I slipped noiselessly into the lake, diving deep under the dark water. Then I rocketed up underneath her and grabbed her legs, pulling her down like the dead weight I was.

Fairy-demon hybrids can't breathe underwater. Who knew?

Once she stopped spluttering, our swim degenerated into an extended game of hunt and evade. The angry squawks of annoyed wildfowl echoed over her quiet corner of the lake as I blurred after her and she popped all over it. Eventually Rory, breathless with laughter, flopped down on the grass next to her clothes. A grin on my face, I stretched out on my back a few feet from her, hands behind my head.

"Who won?" I asked smugly.

"Lost count."

"I did. Admit it, woman."

"You've no proof. Should have kept score." She stretched, sighed and closed her eyes as she settled further into the thick grass. "I needed that," she breathed softly.

Was something bothering her? Problems with the demon, perhaps. Maybe I needed to have that word with him. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, and saw... What the fuck?

The grass by her side rippled, I was sure of it, but the air was still. I turned towards her, propping myself up on my elbow. There it was again. "What are you doing?"

She cracked open one eye. "Recharging."

"Ah." She did feel... relaxed. I watched, fascinated, as the grass undulated unnaturally around her in the moonlight. After a minute it got less fascinating. I laid back down, staring up at the stars, and admitted quietly, "I needed that too."

"No shit," she mumbled, running her hands over the cool grass between us. I opened my mouth to thank her, but she interrupted. "No need. In case you hadn't notice, I like you. And I miss your zest for life."

Her eyes were closed again. I reached out and took her hand. "I like you too. This was... good."

She squeezed my hand.

"Shouldn't you be doing this sort of thing with that devilishly handsome lawyer of yours?"

"Maybe I already have." She opened one eye to glare at me. "And Sebastian doesn't cheat."

"Flying is not cheating. You teleported."

"Oh please. It's not like it gave me an advantage. You're faster, and you can track me now I've had your blood."

I smirked. That had come in handy.

"About that..." she started cautiously.

I rolled on my side to face her, guessing what she wanted to discuss. "The _gift_ of your blood."

"You picked that up, huh?" she said, letting go of my hand and rolling closer, onto her stomach. The skin on her back glowed almost as pale as mine in the moonlight and her hair was dark with water. She was beautiful. My systir.

"I wasn't turned yesterday," I said lightly. "What sort of gift was it?"

"One that should stay secret. The properties of demon blood are not common knowledge." She swept her hair over her shoulder so she could look at me. "It might not do anything. I'm a mongrel," I winced at her casual use of the term, "and you're not human."

"Demons give humans their blood then," I said slowly, following her implication. There were old legends of blood drinking ceremonies, demons with incorruptible flesh – those always amused me, given my kind's post-mortem preservation – and demons spreading corruption throughout the world. "To corrupt the human?" I guessed.

She chuckled. "You could call it that."

"So how might it 'corrupt' me?" I asked calmly. She wouldn't harm me. Not purposefully.

"There's the rub. I'm not sure it will do anything. It's not like demon blood is a common vampire tipple."

Some imbecile would have tried draining a demon at some point in the last millennium, so... "It has to be willing given."

"Yes."

"What does your blood do to humans?"

"No idea. Never given one my blood."

I growled impatiently, unimpressed by her flippancy.

She laughed and elaborated. "It's rarely done. There are consequences for the human. Nothing damaging, just... noticeable."

I felt her discomfort in my blood. "You are holding out on me."

She shifted uncomfortably, dropping her eyes. "Some things are not my secrets to share. Not when they don't affect you _directly."_

"Fair enough. How will it affect me, _directly?"_

"It depends what gift my blood carries."

I blinked. Carries. Gift as in... talent. "Your empathy," I said flatly.

Shit. More emotions on top of my own was the last thing I needed. But it could be useful, very useful, in the long run. Her sheepish reply dashed that possibility.

"I'm not quite strong enough to pass that on, I'm afraid. Or control what you get. One of the lesser gifts is more likely." She shifted her weight, freeing her arm so she could extend it and open her palm. A flame, blue and steady, flickered into existence.

I said drily, "I'm flammable."

She grinned. "So are demons, but none catch fire from their own flame."

"Ah." That might be useful, then.

She closed her palm, extinguishing it. "Abilities skip generations, too. It's a lottery. You could get anything in my bloodline."

"Seeing auras?"

"No. That, as far as I know, is a combination of demon empathy and the fae ability to sense one another's life force and magic. Aura viewing is actually unheard of in either race."

"As unique and precious as its wielder, then."

"Flatterer." She smiled, and I sensed her swell of pride and affection. "You won't get any of my fae talents. No teleporting."

Damn. I would have liked that one.

"It won't manifest immediately," she continued. "So if anything weird happens in the next few months, blame me."

"Oh, I will."

She side-eyed me. "Not mad?"

"No. Intrigued." Vampires didn't change much. It was a novelty to gain something new at my age. I could pass it off as an ability I had kept hidden.

The sky was paling to the east. "Shall we?" I asked, nodding at the horizon as I got to my feet and offered her a hand up.

Inside, she offered me some bagged blood. I declined, saying I wanted rid of the smell of lake water, but in reality I was escaping to the room she kept for me before she decided we should talk.

She knocked on my door ten minutes before sunrise anyway.

"Come in," I grunted from the bathroom. Sticking my head out when I heard the door lock, I raised an eyebrow when I saw what she was wearing: tartan pyjamas. "Shouldn't you be getting up?"

"Day off," she said as she turned down the bed.

She meant to stay the day, which gave me an excuse to avoid downtime. Torn between annoyance and relief, I frowned. "Sebastian won't approve of you making a habit of this."

"Sebastian isn't here. And you're lonely," she said bluntly, slipping under the covers and patting the bed beside her. "I could feel it from the other side of the house."

"I'm not a fucking charity case," I muttered, slipping on a pair of grey sweat pants as a concession to her presence.

"It's not charity. You're family."

Grumbling under my breath, I got into bed and turned away from her, thumping the pillows into shape.

"I don't want to talk," I said shortly.

"We'll talk when you're ready," she whispered, spooning up behind me and sliding her warm arm around my chest. True to her word, her soft breathing was the only noise she made until death took me. I rose ten hours later to the same peaceful sound.

Easing out of her embrace, I turned to look at her. Her hair was spread out across the pillow in soft red waves, and her thick eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks peppered with freckles. She was ethereal, smelling comfortingly of warmth and woman. My unique, impulsive, fairy-demon systir.

I pressed a bitter-sweet kiss to her forehead. However deep my affection for her, hers were not the arms I yearned to rise in.

She stirred, mumbling my name, no doubt sensing my sadness. I hushed her and shifted gently off the bed. I kept some clothes there, so I was dressed by the time she sat up, hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders. She yawned noisily.

"Have time for a blood before you leave?"

"Duty calls." I sat on the bed and pulled on my shoes. I still didn't want to talk.

"Eric," she began, but my phone rang. Saved by the bell.

"Oskar," I greeted.

He was not calling with good news. The bratty newborn Milena had taken on was causing trouble. Again. The more I heard the angrier I got, and the shorter and harsher my replies. Finally I snarled, "Hold him there. I will be there as soon as I can."

Rory's face was as grim as my own when I left.

…

The next week lurched from one irritation to another.

New Orleans was a fucking drain on my time. I had to go over again mid-week. Too many young wannabe Lestats with a piss-poor grasp of the concept of respect, let alone discipline, their over-inflated egos not backed by age, skill, or usefulness.

The tourists loved them. I wanted to silver the lot of them and lose them in a bayou for a few centuries. They could drink as much alligator blood as they wanted.

The turd on top of the rancid pie was Oskar's reaction when I told him I had taken Rory as a blood sister. Oskar was never one to hold back criticism. He disapproved, vehemently. The usual: fae couldn't be trusted, it put my alliance with Stan and Bartlett at risk, I had to think of the kingdom before my cock.

I told him to suck it.

We traded insults and old grievances until we almost came to blows. Like old times. He was seething when I left, but he could hardly attack his king after berating me for not respecting my position. Fortunately he had plenty of fatuous, idiotic subjects. He could vent his spleen on them.

On top of putting out fires, I had a meeting with the mayor of Baton Rouge. The culmination of months of diplomacy and playing sickeningly nice, and it did not go smoothly

I smelt Ms Lindenberg outside his office when I arrived. At his invitation, he said, when I mentioned it. He had been even more wary of me than usual, making it obvious she had whispered poison in his ear.

_Dearest_ Sally was proving to be a giant pain in my ass. Her claws needed clipping but frustratingly, if I got her fired and her bosses were really out for our fangs, her replacement was likely to be worse. At least I had something on her. Goro suggested digging into her private life for more, and I agreed. For now.

Then there was Area 4. Francine had run to mommy to bitch about the fine and silvering Rasul handed out for under-reporting her accounts and withholding tithes. Her maker came directly to me to complain, unaware that I was the one who uncovered her child's fraud. Things became... unpleasant when I refused to side with her and her offspring over my sheriff. She was currently back in Maine, regrowing the arm Goro had removed.

It was not wise to bring a silver dagger into my office.

There was a good chance I would hear from her maker next. Granddaddy would be trickier to dispatch at six hundred, but – thanks to Bill's meticulous record keeping – I had some dirt on him. If he came to negotiate, that is.

If he came armed for a fight, I was in the mood to take his head.

The final straw was the Brick breaking down. Some kind of electrical fault, a part that wasn't available. All in all it had been such a shitty week I wondered fleetingly if I'd been hexed. I had not had a minute's peace, and not because I'd been avoiding my own company.

By Saturday, I was beyond frustrated. There was a backlog of paperwork cluttering my desk that I wanted to burn.

Pam was due to visit – she and Rory were tag-teaming, apparently – but she was delayed, denying me an excuse to play hooky. I couldn't spend the whole night in the dojo with Goro. Inevitably, I got stuck behind my desk, Sanjay periodically bringing fresh letters to sign and figures to go over. When Pam finally arrived an hour before dawn I was ready to quit. She stood in front of my desk, hand on hip, her eyes flicking over the mess of papers and then over me. A slight crease formed between her eyebrows.

I stood up. "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here."

"Shouldn't you finish that lot?"

"It can wait. I'll see you at sunset."

I was out of the office before she could argue, blurring past Sanjay, who was on the phone arguing with a mechanic about the damn limo. Up the stairs, out onto the roof and up into the sky.

Rain pelted down and my clothes were soaked in seconds. All I thought of was escape. I didn't turn back until dawn chased me.

…

I rose, later than usual, and felt Pam rising next door, in her hidden room. She complained it was the size of a broom closet, but she was too exposed resting in one of the third floor suites. A king's child was a tempting target.

Still in a foul mood, I waited until Pam went upstairs to exit my quarters. There was a small utility area down here, at the end of the corridor, for those occasions when I needed to personally ensure all traces of bodily fluids had been removed from my clothes. I shoved the wet jeans and t-shirt from my flight into the dryer and set it going. Upstairs, the pile of paperwork seemed to have grown, which was impossible – the office and my official suite were both sealed during the day to protect their contents and the hidden entrance to my quarters.

Now though, the door to the outer office was open and through it, over the whir of the copier, Pam was talking quietly to Geraldine. Too quietly. I strode out of the office and the conversation stopped abruptly. Geraldine turned away to the copier, but not before I caught her nervous expression.

"Pam. A word please."

Sitting behind my desk, I pushed irritatedly at a the papers. "Geraldine does not have time for gossip, Pamela."

She ignored my tone. "So I see. Busy, busy. Let's order in while we work. Dolores has a new girl."

The reminder of how chummy she was with Dolores put my back up. I said coldly, "I don't bring donors up here."

"I thought it would save time. You'll like her. Fresh blood."

"I decide who I like," I snapped. "Let me make one thing clear, Pamela. You are not to interfere with my staff, especially Dolores. I am the one they answer to, not you."

By the end of my sentence, I was on my feet, fangs down, growling.

One of us was stunned by that, but it wasn't Pam. Calmly pulling out her cellphone she pressed a button. "Plan B," was all she said into it.

Trying to appear calm, I retracted my fangs and said tensely, "If that was Dolores–"

"Rory. She's on her way."

I folded my arms. Mainly to stop myself breaking something. "I do not need her interference either."

"Eric, I don't like this any more than you do. In fact, I fucking hate it. But if it takes ratting you out to Rory to fix you, I will." She added with a bitterness that shocked me, "Fuck knows, you won't listen to me. Not when you can command me to shut up."

She sounded, and felt, rejected. "Pam, I..."

Before I could work out what to say, Rory breezed in, careful to shut the door behind her. Two against one. Wonderful. She didn't beat around the bush.

"You've been bottling things up. Again."

"It was that or a trail of bodies," I snarled. What the fuck was I supposed to do, give in to the desire to rip our _charming_ BSA rep to shreds? I hadn't felt so out of control in centuries. It was maddening.

Pam put in, "You should have taken it out on Oskar. I thought breaking bones was how you two communicated."

I glared at her.

She shrugged. "He called to bitch. You know what he's like."

Rory interrupted, "When did you last feed?"

I had fed on... Fuck. I sat down heavily, running my hand over my face.

"Thought so," Rory said tightly. "Not hungry?"

"No," I said quietly, my anger deflated by the disappointment pouring off them both. And my own. I wasn't recovering as well as I thought.

She sat down. "I met someone who can help, I think. You have an interesting staff."

"You were here in the day?" Checking up on me, I realised.

"Yes. Geraldine is lovely. I see why you picked her; she has the spark."

I shared a blank look with Pam. "Spark?"

"Oh. Thought you knew about that," Rory said uncomfortably. She sighed. "Me and my big mouth. You've noticed those rare humans who are more open to us, right? Intuitive, better instincts around us."

Pam and I shared another look, and I nodded.

"The fae call that the essential spark." She rolled her eyes. "As if humans without it are just dumb animals."

"I see." Niall had once remarked casually that Sookie had a certain spark, as if he was testing me. I had brushed it off, assuming he meant her fierceness. Openness to our otherness, now that quality she always had... Reassuringly, that might explain why Geraldine reminded me of her on occasion.

Ah.

Rory assumed I would know about it because of Sookie. Who she was avoiding bringing up, handling me with kid gloves. Well, why not? Apparently I needed reminding to feed.

Swallowing my annoyance, I asked, "And how will this spark of Geraldine's help?"

"Oh, no. Not Geraldine. Your interior designer, Emmett Flavell."

What was so special about the breather? He was attractive, he had a flair for design, but that was as far as it went. "You met him here, today?"

"By good fortune, yes. He lost his house keys, or I wouldn't have. I knew what he was as soon as I saw him. He's willing to feed you, but there are conditions."

"Go on."

"Blood only. He's married."

"Not a problem." Not at the moment.

"He won't be a donor for anyone else. And Baptiste wants to be present."

"My cook?" I asked, surprised. "Why?"

"He's a little overprotective." She rolled her eyes at my continued confusion. "He's the husband. You didn't know?"

"Didn't ask." I shrugged. "I employ him to cook."

"Whatever. You know, it might benefit you to take an interest in your staff. Your wolves let Emmett in this afternoon, no questions asked."

The cook was cousin to one of the Weres, but not a wolf himself. That explained their laxity, but didn't excuse it. Yuri's leadership, or lack thereof, was an ongoing concern. I would deal with that later. "Dolores vetted both of them. But point taken."

"Thank you. I have a condition too. Emmett can't know what he is."

"Which is?"

"I'll tell you after. I fed him a line about a rare blood type and wanting to treat you. He might suspect there's more to it, but it's better he doesn't know. He's waiting outside."

Sighing, I got up and moved to the couch. "Fetch him."

Emmett was slender, with mid-brown hair and pale brown eyes. He was wearing a well-cut suit and expensive cologne. Baptiste followed on his heels. The Cajun cook was a large, heavyset, bearded man with black unruly hair and a generous paunch. Never trust a skinny cook Dolores remarked when she hired him. I left the decision to her, for obvious reasons, and hadn't had much to do with him since.

In jeans and a splattered grey t-shirt that smelt of roasted meat, he was the complete opposite of the neatly groomed Emmett. The mismatched pair reminded me of Russell and Bartlett. Imagining the king of Indiana in an apron amused me briefly.

Emmett smiled nervously at me. "I'm your present. Surprise!" He shot a glance at Rory as she came over. "You explained everything?"

"Yes. Thank you so much for doing this for me," she said, as they kissed each other's cheeks.

Baptiste cleared his throat, eyes on me.

"Oh," Emmett said, pulling away from Rory to look at me. "No glamouring, okay?" I nodded. "And I know this is off the books. We won't say anything to a soul, will we Baptiste?"

His husband nodded.

"And no hanky panky. Not that you're not a beautiful hunk of man. If I was fancy-free and single I for sure wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers, not in a million–" He broke off when Rory tugged his sleeve, and he gave an embarrassed half-laugh. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

"This is your first time?" I asked smoothly, patting the couch next to me.

"Er, yes. I'm a fang virgin." He smiled weakly and sat, leaving a foot between us.

Rory gestured for Baptiste to take the couch opposite. He shook his head, but moved closer, folding his arms. Rory and Pam had no such qualms and sat down, watching me expectantly.

"Perhaps Mr Flavell would prefer some privacy," I suggested as he nervously removed his jacket. I certainly didn't want an audience, and resented the implication I needed one. Were they going to count how many times I swallowed?

"Oh, it's fine," Emmett said. "Where are you... Should I take my shirt off? I don't want to ruin it."

"I am not a messy eater. Your choice. The neck is faster, the wrist more painful."

"No pain," Baptiste said. He had a soft voice for a big man.

I looked between them. "It will hurt. Unless I make it pleasurable. You understand?"

Baptiste nodded stiffly and Emmett said fondly, "You'll reap the benefits, sweetie, I promise. I guess the neck, then."

Whatever floated their boat. "Loosen your collar. This won't take long."

Emmett undid his shirt with shaking hands. Eyes on his husband, he said hoarsely, "I'm ready."

I took hold of his shoulders and he turned his head, locking eyes with the cook and exposing his neck. Close up, under the cologne, he smelt of man, no hint of whatever it was Rory recognised in him. He shivered as I ran my tongue over his jugular, his skin breaking into bumps. He tasted pleasant, salty and sweet. Almost... meaty. Once he let out a moan, I bit with no further warning; fast was best when they were nervous.

Warm blood filled my mouth and I swallowed, concentrating on the flavour. There was nothing at first. Maybe a slight tang, a wildness. Then it hit, heat flooding my throat. I drew more deeply. Two, three... five times. I nicked my tongue automatically and wiped my blood over the bite before I pulled away. Dropping my head against the back of the couch, I licked my fangs lazily, hunting out the last drops as I adjusted my pants. I was throbbing uncomfortably.

"Oh my," Emmett said dreamily, a glazed look in his eyes. "Sugar pie, can we...?"

Baptiste chuckled. "I'll take care of you, chickadee." He pulled Emmett gently to his feet, picked up his jacket, and pointed him at the door.

Emmett glanced back over his shoulder and winked at me. "Any time you want a repeat, cowboy. Anytime."

The door closed softly behind them. Rory glanced down at my quite obvious state and grinned. I shifted on the couch but it didn't help. I was aching.

"Ladies. Excuse me," I said, giving in. Pam smirked when she realised where I was going.

The shower, next to the walk-in closet at the back of the office. Intended for cleaning up a different sort of mess to the one I was sluicing of the tiles an embarrassing short time later. It had been a long while since I had to do that, but it had taken the edge off.

I squared my shoulders and opened the door.

"...wand is amazing. Bedroom toys have improved greatly," Rory was saying. "Men really miss out in that department."

"Sebastian not cutting it?" I asked lightly, sitting behind my desk to hide my residual excitement and waving them over.

Rory laughed. "Oh, he hits the spot just fine."

"Feeling... relieved?" Pam asked as she crossed the room, her amusement bubbling through our connection.

I ignored her. "So, what is our friend Emmett? He tasted human, with a faint hint of other. His blood... had quite a kick." I felt like I'd had shifter blood.

"It certain got the sap rising," Rory said, eyes twinkling.

"Viagra for vampires," Pam said, mouth twitching. "Think of the possibilities."

Rory gave her a sharp look. "No-one else is to feed from him. Not even you."

Pam raised her hands in submission. "He's off-limits, I get it."

"You'd better. He has a rare and ancient bloodline." She added warningly, "And no-one in their right mind pisses off his ancestors and their friends."

I sat forward. "Some sort of demon?"

She shook her head. "Satyr. Disciples of Bacchus. Lovers of maenads."

"Ah." No, no-one wanted to annoy Callisto and her sisters.

"He shouldn't find out from you. It's for his kin to tell him what he is, if they ever acknowledge him, which is very unlikely. Races who interbreed with humans, we generally leave our more diluted... by-blows alone. Harsh, but less cruel than dragging them into a world where they'll always be the runts of the litter, so to speak. A liability, easy to use against their relatives."

"He will not hear it from us." I assured her, trying not to think of how her words applied to Sookie.

"Even if his blood is vampire Viagra," Pam added.

I was going to be hearing jokes for years.

Rory grinned. "I was looking for more of a Prozac effect, actually. Satyr magic is supposed to be invigorating, euphoric. They're the ultimate party animal." Her eyes defocused, checking my aura. "I guess that goes hand-in-hand with lustiness for you."

"Prozac?" I couldn't place it.

"Mmm." She fluttered a hand, concentrating on things only she could see. "The latest happy pill. Anti-depressant."

"Ah." Ouch.

Her eyes snapped up to mine. "Pride bruised, brother?"

Yes. Yes, it fucking was.

"Isn't artificially enhancing his mood just a sticking plaster?" Pam asked as if I wasn't in the room.

"Relieving symptoms breaks the cycle, quickens recovery," Rory assured her. "It must be acting as an appetite stimulant. Makes sense. Satyrs have notoriously healthy appetites for all kinds of pleasure. Baptiste is a lucky man."

Pam considered that. "Yes. That's what he's missing. An appetite for pleasure."

"I am still here," I said testily.

Pam bulldozed on. "What about the underlying cause, what heals that?"

Rory's eyes softened. "Time. Give him time, Pam. Speaking of which, I have to be elsewhere."

"I am grateful you helped my maker, fairy." Pam said stiffly.

"He is family, Pam. I will always help him. I'll see you soon, Eric." She blew me a kiss and with a pop, she was gone.

"Nice exit," Pam said drily. "She left us with the donkey work again."

I looked at my desk and groaned.

Pam grimaced. "I'll play secretary. It'll be like old times. Prioritise first?"

I nodded, picking up a pile to start on. I was still buzzed from Emmett's blood. Buzzed enough that my dismay at the evening's events faded as we worked in companionable silence, creating order out of chaos.

Until Pam put her foot in it.

"You know," Pam said far too casually as she leant to add a letter to the urgent pile, "if the fairy hadn't been here, I would have offered to help you out in the shower."

She was carefully not making eye contact. We were long past that stage of our relationship, and my limping pride yowled loudly.

"I don't need pity sex from you too," I snapped and immediately wished I'd held my tongue.

Her head snapped up. "Too? Who else... Oh. Rory."

I winced. Yes, it bothered me that she said she fucked me because I needed comfort. And there hadn't been a flicker of interest from her since the night we met. Not that I wanted her to be interested when I wasn't – that would be awkward, especially now we'd cemented ourselves as siblings – it was just... Pride. I didn't welcome charity. Especially in bed.

I wasn't used to it.

Pam moved around the desk to deposit another file. "Does it bother you that she's with the lawyer?"

"No," I said tersely, hitting the stapler too hard as I reattached the separated pages of a document.

"I call bullshit."

I scoffed.

She raised an eyebrow. "You were jealous when she told you."

If I didn't make her understand, she would keep gnawing at the bone until it cracked. "Not of Sebastian. Of Rory."

"I see. You've developed a taste for male half-demons. That is amusing."

I snorted. "He's too quiet for my tastes. It's not that. Rory is happy with him. I envy her. That's what you felt from me."

"Oh." There was a pause, while she took that in.

"You don't approve." I ran a finger down the pale scar on my arm to indicate what I meant.

"She's grown on me. It's just..."

"Jealousy." I felt it clearly.

She groaned. "Fucking blood exchanges."

She'd never been jealous of other women where I was concerned. Except Karin.

That's what this was about. She didn't mind if Rory and I were lovers. Lovers came and went. Family stuck around. That made Rory a potential threat.

"Can you blame me?" Pam sighed. "We've only known her a year, yet you trust her implicitly. That's not like you. Oh, I understand, I do. I miss Karin too. But aren't I enough?"

"I chose you. You are my child, my blood, and my friend, Pamela. More than Karin ever was to me. This is not about replacing her." At one point I'd thought it was, purely because Rory was closer to my age, as Karin had been. But that wasn't it. "What I have with Sorcha does not take away from what is between us. I do not understand it, neither does she. But it is there."

"I know," she admitted reluctantly. "I can see it when you're together. You fit."

"We do." Like family. I reached over and patted her hand. "But so do we."

"And she does like teasing you," she mused. "Maybe after a few decades we could be friends."

"I would like that." Not the teasing. That was going to be a bitch. And new: Karin had never been one to join in with that. I put the last letter in its place and Pam began neatening the piles, deep in thought.

"Start with these," she instructed, handing me a pile and taking one for herself.

Something was still bothering her. I wasn't letting it fester this time. "What is it, Pam?"

"I feel responsible. I pushed you to become king."

I waved a hand. "Please. I'm the maker here. And a stubborn ass. I didn't do this for you."

"No? Not even a tiny bit?"

A smile tugged at my lips. "Maybe a little. You deserved better than that caped idiot."

"True."

She settled down to the paperwork, and I dispatched two items before she spoke again.

"I thought the worst had happened." She gave me a tight smile when I queried her with a look. "Last year. Torture, injury, that I expect. We're vampires. Shit happens. But this came out of left field. I have no idea how to deal with it."

I leant back against the chair, staring moodily at the letter in my hand. "You think I do?"

"No. Which makes it worse, you realise."

I grunted.

"I don't understand what caused it. You were over what happened in Oklahoma."

Fuck. I didn't expect Pam to be the one to play psychiatrist. I put the letter down and rubbed my face, feeling ambushed. Pam waited patiently for me to speak.

I said slowly, "Rory had the heart of it. I bottled up too much. Too many losses, and no room to grieve. My Area, my freedom, Karin," I added Sookie silently to the list, "Ocella."

She frowned. "I find it hard to believe losing Ocella was anything other than a relief."

"He was my maker, Pam. His blood was mine. Losing that is traumatic, even with a maker like Ocella. It affected me in ways that are only now coming to light."

Like the fact Ocella had glamoured me to do fuck knows what, to make me his perfect child.

That was on the tip of my tongue, but I held back. It would lead to questions about her own turning, and that was not something I wanted to discuss right now. I was not ready to deal with another rift between us.

Thankfully she let it drop. Once my desk was cleared, she suggested the dojo and I accepted gratefully. Sparring was far less dangerous than conversation.


	22. Out of the Woods and on to the Summit

Hi all. Thanks for the reviews everybody. Today's chapter is long, and a bit of a mishmash. I hope you enjoy it.

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**Out of the Woods and on to the Summit**

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The night after my satyr-spiked tonic, Goro and I met with the private investigator to discuss his preliminary findings on Sally Lindenberg. The meeting was disappointingly short; progress was slow. We returned to the house and I strode into the lobby to find an unexpected guest waiting on one of Pam's royal couches.

The grizzled wolf got to his feet, pale blue eyes taking in my worn jeans and my faded Fangtasia t-shirt. He glanced down at his own neatly pressed jeans and button-down shirt and grinned.

"And I thought I'd be under-dressed. Good evening, your majesty."

"Jephson." I was surprised to see him. "What brings you to Louisiana?"

Turning to pick up a laptop bag from the couch, he said, "I've got something to show you. Got somewhere we can talk?"

I gestured to the stairs as Goro came in. Jephson nodded to him. "Your second will want to see this too."

Up in the office, he set his laptop up on my desk and cued a media file.

"You aren't gonna like this," he warned gruffly.

We didn't. It was a file of photos taken around the grounds, inside the walls, one even inside the house. All date stamped in the last week, Jephson in every one. Then there were the bugs he'd planted: in two of my cars, and the kitchen when he sneaked in with a delivery. That he hadn't got anywhere above the first floor was small comfort. If he had I might have caught his scent amongst all the other wolves.

There was a weighty silence. Goro was as still as stone, furious.

Jephson cleared his throat. "You got holes in your daytime security big enough for a whale to swim through. That dumb bear you got running things couldn't find his asshole with both hands and a mirror. Half the wolves are slacking off, and he turns a blind eye."

"So I see," I said grimly. It was a wonder nobody had taken advantage. Yet. Maybe they were biding their time. I knew my reputation wasn't enough to deter them – my ego wasn't that big. "Did Isabel send you?"

"No. This is my pitch. Kick the bear out and hire me."

I sat back, folding my hands over my stomach. "I heard you handed Isabel's security over to your protégé."

"Yeah. Ralph was ready. I retired, planned to do some consultancy work. Hell, even bought a cabin. Spent a month fishing."

"And?"

"It was boring as fuck."

"Why not stay in Oklahoma?"

"Didn't want to rain on Ralph's parade. He needs the post, after what happened to his wife." He shrugged. "I got no real ties there. Fancied a change of scene."

He did have ties. Friends, Ralph included. "There is more to it. Explain."

Shrugging, he humoured me. "I get on fine with Jean-Luc. Isabel is okay, better than Freyda. But she's a cold one. No sense of humour. We didn't hit it off."

"Texas or Arkansas are nearer. Why here?"

"Worried I've got a crush on you?" he joked, flashing a grin. "Jean-Luc said you were looking. We've got history. I know I can work with you. That simple."

I thought it over. He was competent, and had proven loyal. He destroyed Nadia's torture porn, kept quiet about me spying on Yasmin. I owed him, no matter what he had said about us being even. The only downside: he was another reminder of Oklahoma. But what was one more reminder? This place already reeked of them.

"Terms?"

"I get to take out the trash. We can discuss the rest later. I know you pay well. Wanna watch me work?"

I smirked. "Oh, yes."

Goro came too, intrigued. On the way to the dojo, I quietly filled him in Jephson's expertise. As Goro commented, he was a vast improvement on what we had, even if he was a potential spy for Isabel or Stan.

I didn't believe Stan would use a wolf, or that Jephson would agree to it. Giving me a bug to spy on a spy was one thing, spying on an employer was a different kettle of fish. As far as I could tell, that ran contrary to his personal code. That was the line with Jephson: he did what he was hired to do.

Rounding Yuri and most of the Weres up didn't take long. Jephson insulted the bear the second he set foot in the dojo, challenging his authority in front of his men. Yuri was furious, red-faced, the veins in his neck popping. He was an arrogant fucker too: I watched him weigh Jephson up, decide the wolf's age and smaller size would go against him.

The fight was short. And impressive.

Yuri shifted back to human form curled up on the floor, hacking up blood, ribs gored and oozing, one eye swelling shut from the vicious punch Jephson got in before he shifted. Jephson crouched over him in wolf form and howled his triumph at the watching Weres.

Once he was human, he kicked Yuri in the ribs for good measure. "You're fired, you fat motherfucker. Clear out, unless you want me to wipe the floor with your ass again."

He stepped back from the gasping Yuri. I gestured to the two vampires waiting to escort the defeated bear off the premises and they dragged him roughly outside.

Jephson glared at the circle of restless, excited werewolves. "As for you dipshits, I'm gonna ride your asses so hard you'll forget there was ever a time when you weren't my bitches. Anyone got a problem with that?"

There was some uneasy shuffling and a few mutters but no-one stepped forward.

"You, Madison! Up front, now!" Jephson barked, pointed at a large sullen wolf. He rattled off a string of names, calling five more out of the mass. He'd certainly done his homework. Dragging their feet, they formed an untidy line in front of him. He got in their faces, yelling and cussing. These were the slackers he'd gotten past. He wasn't thrilled with their work ethic. Or their mother's morals. It was an entertaining tirade.

"One week," he snarled. "And if you haven't improved, you'll be out. Are we clear?"

They muttered.

"I said, are we clear?"

There was a sharper chorus of yes sirs. Satisfied, Jephson turned his back and strolled casually over to pull on his jeans. A bold move, exposing himself, but none of the wolves moved. He'd asserted his dominance completely, all while he was buck-naked.

Back in the office, Geraldine came around her desk when she saw his ripped shirt and swollen knuckles, her eyes fixed on his hand. "That needs icing."

Looking down, he flexed it gingerly, and hissed. "Fucking ace," he growled. "Stupid cocksucker had a thick skull."

Geraldine coughed and he looked up into her pointed stare. Rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand, he mumbled sheepishly, "Sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to cuss. Still buzzed from the fight."

"Ex-military by any chance?"

"Yes," he said, surprised. "How d'you–?"

"Married to a navy SEAL for damn near thirty years. I can smell spit and polish at sixty paces."

"He's a lucky guy," he said, giving her a winsome smile.

She lost hers. "Was. Died three years ago. Cancer."

He winced. "Got any hot-sauce to go with my size nines?"

She almost smiled. Almost.

Enjoyable as it was to watch her toy with him, I cut in. "Geraldine, this is our new head of daytime security. Forgive the rough edges, he's a werewolf."

"Yuri's gone?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Good. Never liked him." She held out her hand to Jephson. "Geraldine Hamilton, Mr Northman's daytime PA. Mr Gupta over there is my night-time counterpart."

He nodded to Sanjay, and held his swollen paw out to her. "Pleased to meet you. David Jephson, owner of the size nines. Be gentle."

She took his hand gently. "This needs splinting."

"Ice will do for now. I've got to haggle with the boss."

"Yes, let's get on with that," I said. "Sanjay, bring a standard contract, two bloods and a whisky for the wolf."

Once we were settled in the office, I gestured at his hand, buried in an ice bucket. "How long?"

He shrugged. "A week or two."

"Too long." One of the idiots might take a shot at him before he'd entrenched himself as top wolf. I could do without the drama. I pulled out my phone and hit speed-dial.

"Taking blood is not on the table," he said firmly.

"Not blood," I said as Rory answered. "You free?"

"I'm at work, but it's slow. What's up?" she asked, her voice hovering towards concern.

Jephson pricked up his ears.

"I have wolf who broke his paw. On Yuri's face."

"Tell me that obnoxious bear came off worst." She disliked Yuri, with good reason. He looked at her like she was raw steak.

I chuckled. "Oh, yes. Yuri is definitely worse for wear."

"Good." I heard the smile in her voice. "I can slip out early. Be there in half an hour." She hung up.

"Gentlemen," I said, leaning back in my chair, "let's talk dollars and cents."

Negotiations went smoothly. Anticipating our headaches with the wolves were over, I offered Jephson a generous package, including a cottage on site, rent free. He was grumbling about fumigating it to get rid of the stench of bear when the door opened. He stared over his shoulder as Rory came in.

"I knew I recognised that voice." He turned to me and said in an impressed tone, "Still got the fairy on tap, eh?"

"Roll that tongue in or lose it," Rory said, clipping the back of his head on the way past. He yelped in shock.

"Miss Kingfisher has free run of the house. Treat her as you would Pam," I ordered, smirking at his stunned expression until she leaned over the desk to kiss my cheek, startling me too.

"Eric," she said warmly. "So what's the wise-guy's problem with..." She trailed off as she turned round and saw him properly. Her hand went to her hip. "Isn't this one Isabel's wolf? What's he doing here?"

"Was. Meet Yuri's replacement, Jephson."

She frowned. "He came to you? Offered himself?"

"Yes."

She cocked her head to one side and looked him over. Honey-sweet she asked, "May I see your injury?"

Jephson set the ice bucket down and held out his hand. She bent over to examine it. Dropping her hands onto his thighs, she pinned him down and brought her face close to his. The air took on that dry, static quality that precedes lightening. His heartbeat picked up, but sensibly he sat stock still. Goro, who could see Rory's face from his seat beside the wolf, slowly leaned away from them.

"I don't trust mercenaries who change sides," Rory said with quiet menace. "If Eric comes to harm through you, I will skin your hide and wear it. Understood?"

He swallowed and nodded. She stood up and the charge in the air began to dissipate. Jephson, wide-eyed, ran a hand over his sparse hair.

"That was unnecessary," I said sharply, having waited for the scene to play out before I expressed my annoyance.

She rounded on me and snarled, "What? I can't be protective of you?"

Her eyes were dark, furious. Dumbfounded by her reaction, I growled softly in warning. "Calm down, woman. Who stole your goat?"

She blinked in confusion. "What goat?"

"Never mind." She was coming out of whatever the fuck that was. "You are feisty tonight."

She shook herself and rubbed her face. "Sorry. Long day."

"You said work was quiet."

"Work's fine. Home..." She gave a rueful grin, and then groaned. "And I spent yesterday with Elva."

"Elva? Is she particularly annoying?"

"Oh, no." She coughed. "Fairy thing. Hormones."

Jephson and Goro, who had been watching our conversation with more interest than was strictly polite, exchanged a look. The wolf grimaced. "PMS."

"That a problem with your bitches?" Goro asked him curiously.

Jephson held up his hands. "Oh no. I'm not fool enough to dive on that grenade."

"Wrong time of the month entirely," Rory said drily. Goro stared at her blankly.

"Oh," Jephson said. "Oh, that can be... Yeah." He smirked at Goro. "We should give these two some alone time."

Goro leaned in conspiratorially to reply, "They're not fucking. She's seeing his lawyer. Half-demon, very handsome." He leered.

"Oh really?" Rory said, putting her hands on her hips and turning to me. "Whoever told you that?"

Whoops. "Was it supposed to be a secret?" I said coolly in the face of her glare.

"Too late now." She gestured at Goro. "Tell the fish wife, tell the whole village."

Goro feigned a hurt look. "Fish wife?"

"Oh, please. You all gossip worse than fae men." Rory rolled her eyes at him and grabbed Jephson hand, making him wince. "Big baby," she muttered, covering the swelling with both hands. "This will hurt. Don't scream."

He jerked as the healing hit him, biting back another yelp. I saw Rory sway in time to blur behind her, catching her shoulders. Before she could protest, I swept her up and carried her to my chair.

"Sit still, woman," I told her sternly when she tried to get up.

Jephson gave a low whistle, flexing his hand. "That's some amazing shit."

Rory brushed my hands off her shoulders. "I need..." Her gaze landed on my hardly touched glass of blood. She snatched it off the desk and, to my amazement, downed it all. Wiping her lips on the back of her hand she said, "That'll do nicely."

"Better?" I asked, ignoring the ping of bloodlust I felt. Her mouth was red. There was a snick behind me.

"That's my cue to leave," she said, her eyes flicking to my second and back to me. "I'll deal with you later, blabbermouth." Flashing me a wicked grin that promised later would be no fun at all, she pressed her bloody lips to mine. Before I could react, she was gone.

"Frustrating woman," I growled, licking my lips clean. Goro was staring at my mouth.

"You missed a spot," he practically sighed round his fangs.

Somewhere Rory was laughing her ass off. She knew how sensual bloody kisses were to vampires.

"Takahashi," I said harshly. "Snap out of it."

He shook himself. "My apologies, Kitajin-san." He stared at my empty chair and then glanced at Jephson's mended hand. "That is some fairy."

"She is," I said smugly. Mine, my sister. "Show Jephson the parts of the house he didn't break into last week, I've got work to do."

…

Another ghost from Oklahoma manifested at the end of the week. This time, Goro, on his night off, called unexpectedly to ask if I could meet him at the dojo, which meant he anticipate a mess. I hated the inconvenience of clearing up blood spilt in my office.

I walked in to find Goro kneeling in the centre of the floor, in full kimono, his favourite katana sheathed and loosely balanced on his thighs. The vampire at his side, in contrast, wore a black turtleneck and jeans. Whip-thin, with thick, short black hair. His forehead was pressed to the floor so his face was hidden. I recognised him from his scent.

Salvatore.

Vittorio's twin, the Sicilian knife-thrower.

Intrigued enough to play along, I sat opposite them, cross-legged.

"Kitajin-san. This cur came to me. He is a worthless worm, still reeking of grave dirt. No maker. No skills to speak of. He wishes to be my apprentice."

"I see," I said, getting an idea of the purpose behind this pantomime. "What answer did you give?"

"None. I thought to end him for his impertinence, but I know of his past transgression against you. The kill is yours, Dono." He bowed his head.

Salvatore didn't twitch a muscle.

"Do with him as you will, Kikugoro. A reward for your loyalty."

"Thank you, Dono." His hand drifted towards the katana and settled on the tsuka, the hilt. He drew the blade out an inch, the soft hiss the only sound in the still dojo.

Salvatore stayed frozen.

Goro winked at me, but kept his tone cold. "He is a pathetic waste of blood. It would take many, many nights to make anything of this lumpen clay. Maybe fifty years."

Goro had signed on as my second for fifty years. "Barely worth your time, Kikugoro."

"Yes," he said slowly. "But he has some potential. It is a long time since I had an apprentice, worthy or not."

He had a child, somewhere in Europe, but had made none since. He wanted to teach the Sicilian. As long as I didn't want to end him, as long as he passed this test. Salvatore must have impressed him, with his knives or with the way he carried himself.

"If it pleases you Takahashi, keep the dog and whip him into shape."

"Dono is generous to his humble servant." I rolled my eyes. He was laying it on thick. "But he attacked you once. How can I trust him here, in your house?"

"Vouch for him."

"I would. If there was a way I could be sure of his obedience, Dono."

There was only one. I nodded minutely, giving my permission.

Goro ordered sharply, "Worm, get up."

Salvatore sat up, carefully keeping his head down. Gold and ivory flashed from behind his dark curls, swinging from his right ear. Jewellery I knew the providence of immediately, but I kept the grin off my face.

The fang he was wearing as an earring was Nadia's. I'd given it to him for the loss of his brother. Goro would have asked whose it was. Excellent strategy from the Sicilian: proof we shared an enemy, and I favoured him.

Very deliberately Goro opened his wrist on the exposed katana. He held it out. "Drink now and you rise tomorrow."

Salvatore latched on without hesitation. They must have discussed an exchange prior to my arrival. Goro, eyes closing in pleasure, bit down on his bottom lip as the Sicilian drank. I watched silently, feeling an unexpected thrill of lust as I watched Salvatore's throat move, the blood muffling his moans.

Emmett's blood or the erotic scene, either way it was a welcome sign that I was... mending.

Goro pulled Salvatore up by his hair and sucked his wrist clean with a soft moan of his own. He lunged at full speed, grabbing the Sicilian and biting into his neck. He drew a quick mouthful and pulled away, leaving Salvatore swaying and bloody, eyes black with bloodlust, fangs down. The Sicilian heaved a shuddering breath.

"Why did you come here, Salvatore?" I asked, once he seemed coherent enough to answer. Last I heard, Stan had returned him to Isabel in Oklahoma.

He turned his head slowly to me and began to answer in Sicilian, caught himself and switched to English. "Isabel released me last week."

"Why?" I would be calling her, and he knew it.

"A fight. With that cornuto, Henri."

Ah. I remembered Henri. One of the guards I wouldn't have been sorry to lose. Vicious temper. "A woman?"

"Si." He descended into a torrent of angry Sicilian, gesticulating and repeating a name, Helena, several times.

I held up a hand and he stuttered to a halt. "Isabel will fill me in. There will be no fighting over humans here."

"Si, your majesty." He dipped his head respectfully.

"There is something else," Goro said, eyes closed as he read his blood in the Sicilian. "A sadness."

"His brother," I said. Goro nodded.

"And excitement. Anticipation."

Salvatore grinned wolfishly, the same grin Vittorio wore before the fight that ended him. "To learn from the best. I heard Jean-Luc whining that you beat him."

"Sweet words, dog," Goro chuckled, wiping the katana clean before sliding it back into its saya. "Swear fealty to your new king, then I will find you a room."

When I called Isabel, she confirmed Salvatore's story. I asked if he'd caused any other trouble.

"None, apart from this incident." She paused. "Which wasn't like him. He stole the woman blatantly, provoked Henri. There may have been an earlier squabble that precipitated this one, but neither admitted it. I was sorry to lose Salvatore, but the girl was Henri's. He broke the rules."

There were rumours she'd recently refused to release her sheriff in Lawson and I knew she was short of quality vampires. Perhaps Salvatore decided it was time to move on and had manipulated Isabel into letting him go. If so, forcing her hand showed cunning.

And recklessness; Isabel could have ruled for his final death.

Cunning was useful, if it was tempered with caution. If Goro could put up with his sharp tongue, Salvatore would make a good addition to the house. He fought as well as Vittorio had. Much better than the guard I lost over that accidental turning.

…

Taking Emmett's blood marked a turning point.

Whether it was the blood itself or my bloody-minded determination not to backslide – Rory and Pam standing over me while I fed as if I was a recalcitrant child refusing to eat his vegetables was not an experience I wished to repeat – things improved steadily as the year drew to a close.

Drinking from the source became less of a chore as my hunger and libido returned in fits and starts. Rory and Pam badgered me into snatching every opportunity to let off steam, which gradually alleviated my mental weariness. However irritated I appeared with them, underneath I was profoundly grateful.

Amazingly, even with Jephson and Salvatore at the house, that echo of Oklahoma, that claustrophobic dread plagued me less and less often. While I was alert, anyway. My subconscious was still throwing the occasional sucker punch during downtime.

I was almost home free. But there were a few… moments in December.

Attending a 'Winter Holiday' celebration in my continued quest to win over the mayor, I was cornered by a particularly belligerent local politician, known for his ultra-conservative brand of Christianity. Fielding his not so subtle questions about my personal beliefs set my blood boiling. Foolishly, I let him draw me into an argument over whether vampires had souls. It ended with me stalking off, fangs barely hidden, leaving him smug and gloating. A mistake, to lose my cool in a room of politicians, but a smaller one than acting on the impulse to dismember him.

It wasn't just humans who got under my skin.

The week before Christmas I was a hairsbreadth from ripping Becker limb from limb. He smiled a fraction too smugly when I turned up at the Mausoleum, soaked to the skin after flying through a storm to make a meeting on time. The Brick had a flat, and I'd abandoned the limo on the interstate with Goro, who was cursing it soundly.

It was the latest in a series of punctures, snapped fan belts and misfiring cylinders. An increasingly suspicious run of bad luck. I had dismissed a hex as paranoia, given my mental state lately, but it was time to revisit the idea.

Becker's knowing smirk at my bedraggled appearance provided an instant suspect. Later that night, sitting in Oskar's office in borrowed clothes, I asked if Becker was consorting with witches.

Oskar frowned. "I haven't heard. Would he waste gold to hex you?"

"He's pissed. I bruised his dignity."

"You reap what you sow, Eric. What did he do, flirt with you?" he asked sarcastically.

"He whined about a ruling. I, ah, lost my temper."

He sat forward. "You laid hands on him?"

"Yes. Nothing... damaging." Except to Becker's ego.

"Wish I had. He's an irritating gobshite." He snorted. "Hexing your limo is minor. It doesn't give you cause to end him. If that's all he's done."

"As far as I know." Despite his association with de Castro's pretty boy spy, I didn't think Becker was up to anything treasonous. "And I have no proof to connect him to this."

"You'd need the witch for that," Oskar said thoughtfully.

"He'll have a scapegoat lined up to take the blame."

"Have you pissed any off lately? Witches?"

"Not since Hallow."

"The one who cursed you."

"Pam tell you about that?" I said sharply.

He shrugged. "She didn't say much. Just warned me not to mess with any two-natured witches I came across. But I already knew that. Met one in Portugal once. Friend of Raisa."

"She had a lot of friends. Isabel Beaumont included. They were close."

"Lovers?"

"So Goro says."

That titbit didn't distract him for long. "There is one witch in New Orleans who might hex your limo. For the right price."

I was puzzled for a moment. "Ah. Amelia Broadway. Has she been giving you trouble?"

"No. I didn't give her chance." His lip curled in disgust. "I don't employ witches with no respect for our blood."

"I'm touched," I said sarcastically. He wasn't acting on any sympathy for me. Oskar had strong opinions on witches knowing their place. As tools for his use. "You don't employ her coven?"

He shook his head.

"Tut, tut, Sheriff. Cutting your nose off to spite your face. Sophie Ann found them reliable."

"They're not the only circus in town. I expect discretion. Broadway has a mouth as big as the Mississippi's and the attitude of an entitled New Yorker."

I laughed. "You have her nailed."

Whether that attitude meant she'd risk my wrath over a petty hex, especially while she was pregnant, was another matter. But Oskar had that glint in his eye, the one he got on a hunt. If it was Amelia, she was in trouble.

…

I watched Mithradates packing away his laptop. It was just before the holidays, our second meeting in as many weeks to prepare for the Amun summit at the end of January. The tall, lithe half-demon could pass for Arab or Persian. He had thick dark brown hair, coffee-coloured skin and quick hazel eyes that hinted at the razor-sharp intellect behind them.

He looked up, catching me watching. "Is there something else, Eric?"

"There is. Off the clock. Miss Kingfisher."

He straightened up warily. "You indicated you had no interest in her."

"My exact words back in October were that there were no obstacles in your way as far as I was concerned. Which is not the same as having no interest in what happens to her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I had it from Rory herself that she was a free agent."

"She is. I have no claim on her that way." I put down the pen I was toying with and spoke slowly so he wouldn't mistake me. "If you hurt her, I will revenge her. Tenfold."

We sized each other up. I imagined the sounds of elk locking horns in the silence until he frowned, looking almost as puzzled as he had two months ago when I'd all but ordered him to make a move on her. He said cautiously, "You and Rory are close."

Apparently she hadn't told him quite what we meant to each other since the ritual, which pleased me. I wondered smugly if he even knew her real name, but the feeling faded when I realised he probably did. She only hid who she was from her enemies amongst the fae. She'd spent far too long in the demon realm for him not to know something of her true identity.

"We are," I agreed. "Very close."

Sebastian nodded to himself. "That's good."

It was? I cocked an eyebrow.

"You have her back," he explained. "Fairies fear you more than me, don't you think?"

"Has she been threatened?"

"Not directly, as far as I know. It concerns me, though, how guarded she is around fae she doesn't know."

It was my turn to frown. For obvious reasons, I didn't know which fae were currently frequenting Area 5. "Anyone in particular?"

"No-one I can't handle. Except her son. She made me swear to leave him alone. A pity. He needs a lesson in respect beaten into him." The solemn, studious lawyer disappeared behind a wicked grin. Quite a transformation: he was a handsome bastard.

An equally mischievous smirk tugged at my own lips. "No such promise has been extracted from me. What exactly did her charming offspring do?"

He pulled a face. "You want a list? He berates her in front of others for treating patients who aren't fae, for her personal life, for her dealings with you, with me… In short, he behaves like a spoilt adolescent."

"He's fae. Arrogant and self-centred runs in their veins."

"Not all of them."

"No." Not Rory. She was different.

"She deserves better."

"Yes." Clearly singed eyebrows weren't cutting it as an incentive for Connal to honour his remaining parent. Perhaps a run in with the sheriff of Area 5 would kick his ass into gear. Rory would be pissed, though. I'd have to be careful. Speaking of which... "This conversation never happened." She'd flambé both of us if she knew.

He grinned again. "What conversation?

And I thought he was too serious for her. I was beginning to see what she saw in him.

His smile vanished, his expression hardening as he stood to leave. "Connal is distressing her. That is the only reason I am going behind her back. That, and she trusts you. Don't break that trust, or it will go ill for you."

My smirk widened. Oh, he'd do. Definitely. He had the balls to threaten a king for her.

…

I was invited to Rory's right after Christmas, not that either of us celebrated the holiday. She led me to the hothouse this time, where an ambush waited in the candlelight.

Two drinks ready on the table, two bottles waiting besides them in anticipation of a long night.

A long night of talking.

Fuck.

She sat, patting the couch next to her. I joined her, picked up the goblet and downed a gulp of blood.

"Dutch courage?" she joked, taking up her wine. "Good idea."

I shot her a warning look, defiantly swallowing another mouthful. She drained half her wine and licked her lips, stained dark by the grapes. Setting the glass down, she waited for me to speak, an open look on her face.

I gestured with my drink. "My thirst for blood is back. And... other things."

She nodded. "Emmett should feed you again. Before the summit."

"There is no need."

"It's been less than a month. You're not out of the woods," she insisted. "Not quite. We worry. Humour us."

"Us?"

"Pam. Me. Your family."

"Vampires don't have family," I grumbled, taking a sip of blood to hide my smile. "And I don't need more _Prozac_."

"You can't heal yourself by sheer force of will."

"I can try," I muttered.

"Even you aren't stubborn enough for that. Please, Eric."

"Once," I conceded. "Once more, but only for the summit."

"Thank you." She paused expectantly. When I didn't speak she prompted: "How's it been?"

I groaned, dropping my head back against the couch.

"Come on, Eric. Don't make it like pulling teeth."

I had an idea and rolled my head to look at her. "Quid pro quo, sister. Tell me what's going on with you first."

"Then you _will_ talk," she said warningly.

"Yes," I said and blatantly switched topics. "How's Sebastian?"

"Wonderful. Except his new boss keeps him busy, so it's crazy finding time together. We're going away for a week." She laughed when my face fell. "After the summit. I wouldn't dream of taking your lawyer from you."

I sat up, turning towards her. She mirrored the movement. There was a glow in her eyes, a happy glow. "You are in love. Is he?"

"Perhaps," she said coyly.

"He treats you well?" Because that didn't necessarily follow.

"Very. I'm content," she said, smiling broadly.

She looked it. Whatever was bothering her was something else. "The night you healed Jephson. Was it really hormones that shortened your fuse?"

"Oh. That. I was hoping you'd forgotten."

"Now, Sorcha, don't make it like pulling teeth," I teased. She swung a cushion at my head but I snatched from her, smirking.

"Arsehole." She sighed. "Fine. It's Connal. He's… his father's son. Exactly like Cadogan. Pig-headed. Passionate. Thinks he's right all the frigging time."

"And you're the one in the wrong."

"Oh so, so wrong. He's..." She sucked in a long breath, hissing over her teeth. "He's very fae. Bigotted. It's painful, finding out who he is."

"His grandmother's attitudes?"

"No, no. Not Rosheen. Cad was half fae; she never believed in racial purity. But her second husband... And the fae Connal ran with... Breandan made a lot of promises, ones that won over the younger earth fae. Connal picked up their beliefs."

"What has he done?"

She shook her head, eyes wet, and said softly, "Oh, just spouted nonsense. I'm a traitor to the fae. He wishes I wasn't his mother."

I growled. Ungrateful brat.

"I won't change who I am. Not even for Connal. Never again." She blinked, and a tear glistened on her lashes. "Cadogan would be heartbroken to hear him. That's what hurts the most. He's all that's left of Cad and me."

"You regret leaving him in fae."

"Yes. Cad thought twelve was old enough to resist the hatred. But I was older my uncle manipulated me. I should have known, insisted Connal leave with us."

"Could you have taken him to Dae with you, when you retreated there?"

"No," she admitted. "He was too fae."

"Leaving him in Fae was best, then. He is still alive. And alive he can change."

She wiped her face. "I doubt that's going to happen."

That was pain talking. It wasn't like her to sound so defeated. I wanted to wring his ungrateful neck, but that wasn't going to fix this. "He is still around, yes?"

She frowned. "Yes. Keeps turning up like a bad penny."

"He is drawn to you. If he hated you, he would leave."

"Like Fionna," she said bitterly.

I took her hand. "Yes, like Fionna. But this one is not yet lost. I imagine it is hard discovering other races can knock the fae off that pedestal they think they deserve. Harder still to find them rivals for your mother's affection."

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes widening. "He's jealous."

"Who is the empath here?" I teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

"He found a way to block me," she said grimly.

He didn't trust her. "That… sucks."

"Uh-huh. He hated it as a child. I could always tell when he'd done something wrong, the guilt gave him away. He came prepared."

"Ah. He doesn't want you to know he cares."

"You would say that." She smirked. "It drove you crazy, didn't it? Not being able to hide your feelings around me."

I stuck my tongue out at her, and was pleased when she laughed. "Give him some time, Sorcha." If he didn't come round, I'd give him a hard shove in the right direction.

"I will. Thank you. Now, your turn. How is the crown sitting?"

"Easier. Not that things are running completely smoothly…"

"But you're handling it better."

"Mostly." I sighed, looking down at our hands. "I'm sick of needing _support_."

"Is it so bad? Even from me or Pam?"

"Yes," I said heatedly. I hated it. It was weak. Pathetic.

"The fae don't have a monopoly on pride, do they? Let go of it," she said fiercely.

I snorted.

"You're the strongest person I know," she insisted.

"Bullshit." I let go of her hand and got up to pace, remembering the respect in her eyes after she relived Nadia's torture with me. Her astonishment at my 'strength'. How could she respect me now, after this mental weakness, this ... depression I'd fallen into? How could I respect myself?

_How could Sookie?_

I slapped that errant thought away and laughed hollowly. "I survived Ocella. I survived Nadia. Now I have what every vampire desires – power, influence, a fucking throne – that brings me to my knees. Everything I could ever want."

"Not everything," she said softly. "Not Sookie."

Not ready for that conversation, I snatched up the goblet and drained it, refilling it hastily from the bottle and downing more while she watched. I forced myself to sit down, holding the goblet like a shield.

"I don't get fucking depressed, Sorcha. I get over it and move on."

"You've never despaired? We all have our moments. Describe one."

I almost denied it, but admitted reluctantly, "The night Ocella died… After he left me behind, injured. But my feelings weren't my own. I had given Alexei blood."

Her lip curled. "At your maker's command."

"Yes. I was swamped. Ocella's despair, Alexei's bloodlust, Pam's pain. I was... paralysed." Helpless. That, I hated above everything.

"What brought you out of it?"

"Sookie," I whispered. She raised her eyebrows and I explained. "She yelled. Made me angry. But that was fleeting. Not like this. I have not felt… like myself for some time."

"After you destroyed your room, you locked your anger up," she said thoughtfully.

"It started before then," I said, keen to avoid that subject.

She gave me an irritated look. "As I was saying, you couldn't use anger to snap yourself out of it."

I waved the goblet, equally irritated. "I am vampire. We control our anger lest it control us." Those of us that wanted to survive, anyway.

"But with everything–"

"Yes, yes. I get it. I made it worse. A perfect storm." I slumped back against the couch. "And I crumpled."

"Stop beating yourself up. That's part of it, you realise."

I rubbed my face. "I did not even notice I was. As I said, I am not myself." It was an odd sensation, feeling like a stranger in my own skin.

Frowning, she added doubtfully, "That could be part of it too."

"Unless…" I couldn't pinpoint when it began. A year ago? Around the time Sookie left for England. When I met Sorcha. I hesitated, sending her a pulse of affection before I continued. "Could it be your soothing? You described it as addictive."

"To the fae. It's essential for them." She wrinkled her nose. "I know it feels good, but it can't alter your personality."

"It alters mood."

"Temporarily," she insisted gently. "You're clutching at straws, looking for something to blame outside yourself."

I didn't want to give up on the idea. "What if absorbing fae magic makes vampire more like the fae, more…" I wanted to say needy but I settled on: "Emotional."

She cocked her head. "The fae are more open to expressing emotion, true. But vampires are no different in private." She looked pointedly down at our hands.

Good point.

"Maybe we're looking at this backwards," she said slowly. She bit her lip, and I sensed her wariness. "You don't feel like yourself, but maybe you _are_ yourself."

"I don't follow."

"Yourself for the first time in centuries."

Oh. That. I let go of her hand.

"Whatever Ocella did, it would be ingrained after so long," Sorcha said softly, eyes full of concern. "Once his influence was gone…"

I would feel unsteady. Off balance. Like riding a longboat in a storm, the wood shivering under my feet like a living being, uneven, shifting. Shaking the image from my head, I ran a hand through my hair and growled in frustration.

The worst thing: I'd never know what the fuck he glamoured into me. It could have been anything. Anything at all.

Shit. My appetite had begun to wane as far back as Oklahoma. I blamed reminders of Sookie, the situation… but with all the upheaval and danger I could easily have missed the unsettling feeling. And if it had started earlier, she could be right.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"Not your fault." I drained my drink. Rory poured herself more wine, sipping it slowly in the silence. I sensed caution from her before she spoke.

"So... Sookie is in Bon Temps. No plans to visit?"

I looked up from my hands. "Not a good idea." Sookie was visiting family, friends. I would be an unwelcome intruder. We would argue. Again.

"You don't feel ready?"

"We did not part well. She was … angry." Rory arched an eyebrow and I admitted, "I promised her Freyda wouldn't win."

She narrowed her eyes. "That wasn't your fault."

"I could have handled it better."

"So could she. You should see her. Before she goes back to Memphis."

Her voice was neutral, but my blood rang with her determination. Why was she so insistent? Ah.

"You spoke to her. At Sanctum."

She nodded. She wasn't smiling, and she had waited six months to bring it up. That couldn't be good.

"About me."

"Yes. She was… jealous."

When I cocked an eyebrow, she gestured between us. "Really?" I said nonchalantly, ignoring a small flare of hope. "Did you set her straight?"

"No. I was testing her."

I stiffened. "Testing her? For what purpose?"

"To see if she was worthy."

I hissed. "That is not your place."

"Isn't it?" she said coolly. "Didn't you do the same to Sebastian, brother?"

I blinked. "He told you."

"No." She grinned. "Lucky guess. We are very alike."

She had me there. "Touché," I said. "What did you say to her, Sorcha?"

"I wanted to know how she could do it. Let that happen to you. If I cared about someone, let alone..." She grimaced. "You know how I feel about forced marriage. I pushed her. Hard."

"And?"

"She pushed back."

"She does that." My lips twitched, and I allowed the memories to warm me briefly. Then I remembered Sorcha was surprised that Sookie left the state. "What did you feel–?"

"Don't get excited," she warned.

How the fuck did she read me like an open book? Oh, yes. Empath. Ruthlessly suppressing my expectations, I gestured for her to continue.

"Sookie was all over the place. Confused. Defensive. Rude. I," she coughed, "may have lost my temper with her."

She was regretful. "She didn't leave because of anything you said, Sorcha," I assured her, remembering the things Sookie said to me. And the things I didn't say to her. "What did you sense from her?"

"There was… something. But not enough to be sure."

That was it? "But you think I should see her."

"Yes. Even if nothing comes of it. _You_ need to resolve this."

"Whatever you felt, that was six months ago." I sighed heavily. I hadn't sought Sookie out once she was free of the shifter. I hadn't made a move either time I ran into her. I had missed my chance, if I ever had one. Sookie wanted a warm breather, children, a life that I couldn't give her.

"You're giving up?"

I forced the words out evenly. "It is too late. She is happy with the tiger."

"Are you sure?" she asked gently.

No. But I didn't want to hear Sookie confirm it.

…

January was almost peaceful. Poppy cleansed the limo, so no more breakdowns. Oskar's witch-hunt went slowly, much to his annoyance, but his leads pointed to de Castro's spy, Eddie. I was certain he was Becker's fall-guy, so we held off accusing him. I didn't want Felipe switching to another spy. He might actually find something out while we worked out who it was and I didn't want Felipe getting any bright ideas. Attacks during a summit were banned, otherwise monarchs would never attend, but Felipe might be tempted. Tit for tat, as I took Louisiana during a sheriff's conference. There was no truce for those, merely an easily sidestepped gentleman's agreement.

No-one considered me a gentleman anyway.

I had gambled on Amun overlooking the timing in their desire to have Louisiana back in the fold. A few absent sheriffs shouldn't weaken a competently run state, but Felipe, who hadn't put a foot in Louisiana since he was injured, had concentrated his strength in Nevada to guard his own neck.

Which was why his head was still attached.

The summit was in Kentucky. I was taking Oskar, Goro and some guards. And Neb instead of Rasul as planned, which left the state a little bare for my tastes, but Neb had convinced me de Castro had taken losing Louisiana personally. Assassinating me at the summit would be just Felipe's style. All it took was an arrow thrown across a crowded room, and Neb was the fastest bodyguard available.

Salome was watching Neb's Area, and some of the cartel behind the Seven Veils happened to be passing through while we were away. Oskar fretted that Neb was planning a coup himself, but my instincts told me to trust the Egyptian. It would served him better to stay behind if that was the case, take the state while I was too far away to prevent it.

We travelled in the best steel coffins. Coffins that would be stuck in the hotel's holding area until sunset as they couldn't be X-rayed. We would be vulnerable: Neb and Goro did not trust the hotel staff with my safety. So Jephson and his team oversaw our delivery to another location: an empty house with a basement.

When Oskar and I cautiously emerged from our coffins, intact, no stakes in the back, Neb had already risen.

"Jephson left already," he said, frowning at his laptop.

The hotel was close, but clearing security was a bitch. We used the front entrance, the queue was shorter than the one in the parking garage. Ripples from Rhodes: all luggage had to arrive with its owner and be scanned.

Initial fears of the Fellowship dissipated somewhat when another bombing failed to materialise, but there was still paranoia that one of our own might take advantage while our royal eggs were in one basket. After all, Felipe had netted Louisiana because LeClerq was injured, and it wasn't as if vampires were averse to fucking each other over. But I'd demonstrated it was impossible to hold two widely separated states and the clans were cautious, so approval to attack a summit to gain territory was unlikely.

Not that vampires always waited for approval, so we endured the wait. Once we were cleared into the lobby Oskar murmured appreciatively, "Sewn up tighter than a duck's arse."

"What quaint and vulgar sayings you have, Oskar," Neb said quietly.

"He's a Saxon barbarian. What do you expect?" I said, knowing it would annoy Oskar.

"_Anglo_-Saxon barbarian," he corrected with a scowl.

Too easy.

The Grand Lobby lived up to its name, ceiling redolent with plasterwork. A row of marble columns divided the long room into two. To the left, wooden floors and reception desks, colour-coded to speed up check-in. Oskar headed to the blue one to deal with that. To the right, windows and a waiting area with plush chairs and thick carpeting. Goro had staked out seats in the far corner, with a commanding view. I strode towards him, Neb stuck to me like glue.

Halfway across the lobby, a woman stepped out from behind a pillar into my path, intent on the clipboard in her hands. When she looked up at me, her apology died on her lips.

My blood churned with an unpleasant mix of thrill and dread. I kept my face blank and nodded to her. "Sookie Stackhouse."

She looked… good. Fantastic, in fact. Her hair was pulled back elegantly, her make-up was subtle. Every inch the sophisticated city woman in a smart blue suit that set off her eyes. Memphis agreed with her. Or the tiger does, I thought.

"Louisiana," she said, bobbing in that awkward yet defiant way of hers. I found it reassuring. She was still there underneath the changes.

"Are you here with Tennessee?" I asked calmly. Better find out now, before Hugh found me to gloat.

"I'm no-one's asset," she said sharply.

As it should be. "I am surprised to see you here, then."

"I'm consulting. Hotel security." She tapped a badge on her lapel that I'd overlooked.

"Ah. Impressive." I cursed internally, recognising the Special Events logo. She was here with Quinn. Aware of the ears around us, I settled for asking cautiously, "Your grandfather allowed this?"

"He wasn't exactly thrilled," she said drily. "Not that he had a say."

I smirked. Nice to know she heeled for Niall as well as she had for the rest of us. Her mouth pursed briefly, but she relaxed and tried to look… pleasant.

"I guess I have you to thank for his presence in my life."

Was she thanking me for ensuring her protection? "He would have turned up on his own," I answered lightly. "Eventually."

"Thanks all the same," she said, hugging the clipboard to her.

That was a definite thank you. Before I could respond the unexpected gratitude, I noticed her hand. Her left hand. Forcing my face to stay smooth I said, "I see congratulations are in order."

Her hand twitched minutely and she looked down at her clipboard, mumbling her thanks without meeting my eyes. What was that about? Knowing it would annoy her, I couldn't resist adding pointedly, "Nice rock. Third time lucky, as they say."

"Second actually," she snapped, blue fire in her eyes.

Ouch. I walked into that.

"If you'll excuse me, your majesty," she said bitingly, cutting our conversation short. I watched her cross to the desk, heels rapping smartly on the wooden floor, before I carried on towards Goro.

"She didn't say hello," Neb said. "Three times your age and I was invisible next to you."

"Anger blinds," I said drily. Just as easily as love.

...

Footnote: The hotel is very loosely based on the Brown Hotel, Louisville. It looks lovely.


	23. Taking Root

It's Friday, where did that week go? Thanks for all the reviews, etc. Here we go...

* * *

**Taking Root**

* * *

I walked away from Eric, my hands tightening on the clipboard, itching to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. I'd been determined to be the better person when I ran into him. I'd tried to be gracious, I really had. Heck, I even thanked him for calling Niall in to protect me. Which, if I was completely honest, made me feel a little like an unwanted Christmas puppy being handed back to its breeder.

But then Eric had to make that crack about the ring, suggest I was out for the biggest diamond I could get. Cheese and rice, he knew how to get under my skin.

Like he ever gave me a ring. Well, screw him.

Screw him for looking so damn handsome in a suit, too. I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw him.

The girl behind the desk saw my scowl. Assuming Minnesota was responsible she said, "Is she still fussing?"

"Yep," I snapped, then grimaced apologetically. It wasn't her fault. I rattled off the list of Minnesota's latest demands, and waited while she called housekeeping.

Maybe coming here wasn't such a great idea.

Niall had sure kicked up enough fuss, but I was damned if I was going to let him boss me around. Oh, sure, Niall couldn't pop into the middle of vamp central – being the fairy formerly known as Prince didn't exactly earn you a warm welcome with a fanged crowd – but why should that dissuade me? I'd survived for years without fairies popping to my rescue.

And I still had Niall's protection as envoy.

Quinn didn't even have that, and him and Eric under the same roof had disaster written all over it. I sighed, glancing down self-consciously at my hand. My place was by Quinn's side – Quinn, whose life was embedded in the supe world. Six months ago I didn't appreciate how significant that was.

…

* * *

...

The dark water of the Mississippi glistened in the light spilling from the old steamboat. Blues music from the band inside competed with the steady churn of the paddle as I leaned on the railing, breathing in the heavy August night.

"You having a good time?" Quinn rumbled softly, wrapping his arm around me.

"Sure am," I answered, ignoring the figure further along the deck.

Our tail was keeping a respectable distance. He was there in case Tennessee got an urge to strike while his temper was hot – Niall had thrown a spanner in the his plans just yesterday, declaring me off-limits in no uncertain terms and lifting a big weight off my shoulders.

I'd persuaded Quinn to take a few days off, convinced Tennessee would make things difficult for him at work. We were playing tourist: a dinner cruise on the river tonight, tickets for a show at the Orpheum tomorrow, and I'd cajoled Quinn into visiting Gracelands the day after. Cheesy, but I wanted to see Bubba's old place.

Neither Quinn nor I were dwelling on vampire bullshit.

My honey had been furious with Tennessee, and he was none too thrilled with Niall's involvement, either. His violet eyes had flashed with offended male pride when Niall announced smugly that Tennessee _and _Eric wouldn't dare cause me any more trouble, on account of him being envoy and all. Quinn wanted to protect me, and he grumbled about replacing honest twoey muscle with fairy tricks, but that suited me just fine. No more dead twoey fathers on my conscience. Not that the local pack had volunteered more wolves for the slaughter.

I didn't want another fairy godmother dying for me either, but Niall insisted. Our shadow tonight was temporary, one of Niall's men filling in until he assigned me a guardian.

Chasing away memories of Claudine knitting tiny clothes, I turned my face into Quinn's solid chest and breathed in his musky scent, which blended pleasantly with his sharp cologne. I hummed in appreciation, and he rumbled with laughter. When I grinned up at him, he pressed his warm lips to mine. We were both enjoying our 'honeymoon' phase and I wanted to deepen the kiss, but I was too aware of our watcher. I pulled away. An audience was always a passion-killer for me.

A little less passion and a bit more sense wouldn't go amiss, I reckoned. One bout of angry sex without a condom was a risk I didn't intend to repeat. Thank the Lord I could feel the heavy sensation in my belly that heralded Mother Nature's visit.

…

After a blissful few days sightseeing, I knuckled down to job hunting.

Not apartment hunting, sadly. Niall and Quinn joined forces on that. Niall said he could only protect one place, so if I moved out Quinn would be vulnerable, and if someone wanted to force my hand...

Quinn's safety trumped my principles. I relented, sending a silent apology to Gran for living in sin. Niall had some slippery fairy spell cast on Quinn's house so anyone who meant me harm wouldn't be able to find the place. I wasn't entirely clear how that worked, but Niall assured me it was very powerful.

I found a job almost immediately.

I wasn't keen on working long hours after dark, for obvious reasons. No more supe drama, I wanted tranquillity. Something decidedly human. The advert for Crenshaw's Books jumped out at me from the classifieds. They sold second-hand and rare books, repaired bindings and such. The store was a few blocks away, between a jeweller's and a yoga studio. I loved it at first sight. The storefront was all gable windows and clapperboard. It was quiet, but not too quiet. The steady trickle of customers, human customers, would keep my telepathy honed.

The young man behind the counter, James, showed me to Miss Crenshaw's office.

Stacks of books and papers cluttered the desk. The slender African American lady sitting behind it looked up from her laptop and smiled, taking off her half-moon glasses.

"Miss Stackhouse." She stood up and leaned forward to shake my hand firmly, her glasses swinging on a neck chain. She was medium height, and wore a brightly coloured tunic top and loose cotton pants. The hair cut close to her head was still dark despite the laughter lines on her face. She said, "Call me Ursula."

"Sookie," I replied. "Thank you for seeing me today, ma'am."

"Ursula," she insisted. "Are you a reader, Sookie?"

I smiled, surprised. "Sure am, ma'am. Lifelong member of the library back home, and soon to join the one here."

"Good." She smiled back.

The bookshelf behind her was filled with academic texts and books about Africa. I guessed the two wooden masks hanging above it were African too. One seemed to be staring at me and she caught me looking.

"Relics of my travels as an anthropologist. Retired, but as you see," she waved at the cluttered desk, "still dabbling."

"Oh." My eyes drifted to the photos on the wall. Family pictures, a younger Miss Crenshaw with a huskier woman, sometimes a taller man, kids in the later ones. One outside the store, the husky woman with the tall guy, both beaming proudly. "Your family?"

She smiled fondly. "That's Beatrice, my sister. She passed away last year, left me this place. Her husband Michael went the year before. Their kids have lives of their own now, so here I am."

Miss Crenshaw was as sharp as a tack, her mind quick and hard to follow at times as she interviewed me. My choices in reading material were found lacking, but my bookkeeping experience and college plans were bonuses. She approved heartily of education, and my willingness to learn made up for my poor school record. She didn't care one whit that I was divorced, and when I admitted it was a man that brought me to Memphis, she chuckled and said she remembered what it was to be young. The memories I got from her then had me blushing; they sure didn't match the dignified, well-spoken woman in front of me.

"Now, let's see what you can do," she said, and we went out to the counter. She had James, who'd worked there for two years part-time while he studied accountancy, show me the ropes, check I could work the register. I concentrated on the task, briefly skimming his thoughts: James hoped I got on with the new girl.

I was ecstatic when Miss Crenshaw hired me on the spot, impressed by my manners.

Or so I thought until I met the other girl.

I was stowing my purse in my locker, looking forward to my first day when she walked in. Taller than me, willowy. Long dark hair, big brown eyes, a shy smile and... a slight sheen to her skin, that quality that screamed fairy if you were in the know. And I was.

"Niall sent you," I said bluntly, folding my arms. She was hired a week before me. Niall set this up, probably put the fairy whammy on Miss Crenshaw to get me hired. Goddammit. How had he known?

"Yes. I'm Meredith Fairweather." She offered her hand to shake mine, and it fell with her smile. She frowned. "Niall said you were expecting me."

"I didn't know you'd be working here."

"Isn't that… good?"

"No, it isn't," I hissed, lowering my voice as I sensed James coming. He opened the door and I turned away, pretending I was having difficulty shutting my locker. I hated that supe stuff was intruding into my workplace. So much for tranquillity.

James gave us both a cheery hello and Meredith answered him warmly. I dipped into his mind, my back still turned. He wanted to flirt with her, but he didn't want to make me uncomfortable.

Meredith laughed and I turned to see her pulling her hair over her ear. Only slightly pointed. She wasn't full fairy. Her mind was hidden, just as Dermot's had been. She was charming James with her fairy sparkle. I didn't like that, but I could hardly tell him she was only here, making eyes at him, as my protector.

James was a nice guy. He couldn't understand why I didn't warm up to Meredith.

Despite her, I enjoyed working in the store. Chatting to customers and browsing the books when it was quiet was a breeze after hauling beers. Miss Crenshaw – Ursula, I mean – was a lovely boss, a huge improvement on that stiff-necked prude, Jody's uncle. Ursula encouraged us to borrow the less valuable books, going as far as putting some classics she thought I might like in the break room.

That was where Meredith finally cornered me after my first week.

"Sookie. We need to talk," she said, standing in front of the door.

"What is it?" I asked sullenly.

She sighed. "Niall thought I would be a good fit. I hoped we might become friends."

I shot back, "You're a guardian, not a friend. And Niall doesn't know me very well."

He certainly hadn't been around much. Oh, he'd come by once, while Quinn was at work, before I got hired. He'd been sniffy when I mentioned waitressing again, the big snob. Obviously he reckoned dusting books was more suitable for his great-grandaughter.

Meredith's eyes fell to the floor. "I can ask to be reassigned, if that is what you wish."

"Whatever."

She asked softly, "Do I remind you of her?"

I blinked. Claudine. She meant Claudine. "No," I said slowly. "You're nothing like her."

"Of course. She was... I could never fill her shoes. You miss her."

"Yes," I said tersely. I wasn't discussing Claudine with this pale substitute.

"She was family." A wistful look passed over her face, making me curious.

I leaned against the lockers. "Why did Niall pick _you _anyway?"

The question came out harsh and rude, but she stepped into the room, away from the door. "I think he hoped we'd have enough in common to… get along. My mother was human, American. I grew up here."

"Where? How old are you?"

"Virginia. Eighty-two." She didn't look twenty-two. She added wryly, "A baby in fairy terms."

"Is that why you're working here? To make friends with me?" I sneered.

"No!"

"Why then? I told Niall not to interfere in my life."

"You really don't know?" I shook my head. "Oh. Niall bound me to you so I can find you, but we're not kin. I can't sense if you're in danger, so I must stay close."

Oh. Claudine had popped to my rescue more than once after her Sookie-sense tingled. Meredith, half-human and lacking that ability, didn't sound particularly well-qualified for the job, but maybe Niall had fewer options now he wasn't Prince.

"Are you doing this because you owe Niall a favour?" I asked, curious about her motives.

"No. I wanted to come back." Her voice got fainter. "For my sister."

"She got left behind? I thought Niall rounded up all the stragglers."

"My half-sister. She was human. Sick. With cancer."

"Oh. Did you…?"

She shook her head sadly. "I was too late. She had children, and grandchildren, but they," she gestured at herself, "don't know who I am."

Oh. Yes, she didn't look like a grandmother's sister. That must make things awkward. "Do you have family in fairy?"

"Only a distant cousin. My father…" She looked away. "The war thinned our line."

We had that in common too: Stackhouses were thin on the ground. I rubbed my temple, as if to dispel the sympathy I felt. "Look Meredith, I haven't had the best experiences with fairies. Breandan tried kill me twice and–"

"I would never betray you," she interrupted. "I swore a binding oath."

Big whoop. "My own cousin came after me, so forgive me for not trusting you."

"Your cousin?" she gasped, eyes wide.

"Claude. Niall didn't mention that?" Ashamed of his own mistakes, I reckoned. Mistakes which almost cost me dearly. That would have given me a month of sleepless nights, but I doubted Niall lost a wink over it. Fairy consciences didn't seem to work that way.

"No, Niall didn't say. That must be fresh for you," Meredith said thoughtfully. "In the realm we have had longer to heal, but such wounds bite deep. The war pitted kin against kin far too often."

"Are the fairies really at peace?"

"Yes. The realm is healing."

"But you wanted to come here anyway?"

She nodded.

"I don't mean to be rude, but can you protect me?"

She stood a little straighter. "I have a special gift. Shall I show you?"

I scanned the store. James was reading a magazine. It was quiet. We were alone in the break room. "Okay."

She came closer, holding her hands out. Reluctantly I offered mine and she gripped my wrists.

"Relax," she urged. "But don't let go."

Taking a deep breath, I tightened my grip obediently.

The floor lurched under my feet and the room went black. I gasped for air, blind, but I didn't let go. When my eyes cleared a long second later, we were standing in Quinn's back yard.

"Holy shit," I gasped, my ears popping.

Meredith beamed. "Cool, hey? Not many fae can port with another."

"Wow. How did you find out you could do that?" I saw the memory as soon as I spoke: two little girls, dark-haired, clinging to each other in terror as rocks bounced down a wooded hillside towards them. Then an old woman, in bed, grey-haired and sickly. I gasped, pulling my hands away.

Her smile faded a little."You saw?"

"I don't… I can't read fairies."

"I'm half-human."

"Oh. Right." And we'd been touching. "Sorry, I didn't mean–"

"You saw the rockfall in the woods? My sister?"

"Uh-huh."

"That was the first time I ever teleported. Bringing a human along for the ride limits my range, but a few blocks should be far enough to get you out of trouble."

"If you know I'm in trouble." And if trouble didn't come with fangs. I assumed she wasn't suicidal.

"Niall will alert me. And I will stay close enough to teleport to you," she said confidently. She held her hands out again. "We should return."

I was easier around her after that, but if she hoped for the closeness I'd shared with Claudine it didn't come. She was a stranger, not family. She didn't push for more, and I was grateful for that.

…

If things at the store were a little awkward, things with Quinn were great.

Or they were when he was home. I hadn't appreciated just how often his job took him out of town until I was the one waiting for him.

I didn't realise at first. We had that month, finally. Oh, he went into the office, but he only spent one night away that August, in Nashville.

We spent a lot of time together. It was heavenly.

Sharing a house was a steep learning curve at first, which was why I'd wanted my own place – keep those eggs in separate baskets. He was, surprising me, a neat freak. Used to having his own way too, I reckoned, after one too many arguments about putting the remote back in the right place. But, on the plus side, he had no problem pitching in with the chores. He'd raised himself and Frannie from a young age and it showed. Sure, he appreciated my home cooking, but he never left me alone doing dishes. He even brought me breakfast in bed on occasion.

Our other bedroom activities scratched my itch quite satisfactorily. But I kept my own room and we didn't always share a bed. Quinn seemed to understand that sometimes I needed to be a room-mate not a girlfriend, keep some distance. I got the shot after that first oops, too. A baby was the last thing we needed.

Memphis offered plenty of entertainment. Theatres. Live music venues, blues places, jazz places. We both loved dancing. We ate out a lot, never at the same place twice. Not at Marcie's. I had no desire to integrate myself into supe society, and Quinn picked human places for our dinner dates. But there were often a couple of twoeys or a vamp or two about, even there. Out in the open, and, as long as they didn't cause trouble, mostly ignored by the locals. I saw very little friction – guess they saved their aggression for the supe places.

Miss Crenshaw, Ursula, mentioned an art gallery she liked one day. Wanting to keep my mind ticking over until I could start college, I dragged Quinn around a few galleries that weekend. Memphis had museums too, full of things that interested and delighted me. Ursula leant me some books on art and American history, a departure from my usual mysteries and romances, but I wasn't too proud to admit my horizons needed broadening.

The anonymity of the city was a blessing too. Store clerks and waitresses, the ladies at the library, none of them knew me as Crazy Sookie. No-one got in my business, no-one thought I was weird or strange. I was one face among hundreds; the thoughts of strangers barely settled on me. If folks thought anything of me it was usually that I was polite and pretty, in an apple-pie wholesome way.

No-one really saw me. In some ways that was a relief, in others not.

It was hard to get to know folks. After a month, I was only on nodding terms with our elderly neighbours, the Pattersons. The customers at the store were more interested in the books than me. My co-workers were just that, even Meredith who I kept at arm's length.

Then Quinn was away every week in September, longer trips, further afield: Texas twice, Georgia, Alabama. That was normal, he said, as the Memphis branch of Special Events covered the whole south, Texas to Florida. None of the trips were vampire-related; apparently Quinn concentrated on twoey events these days. Amelia's spell spared me the details, but not Quinn's agitation if trouble was looming. I worried for him while he was gone. I read to fill the evenings, but found the store too tranquil. The quiet, dull work wasn't sufficient diversion and it began to chafe. A sense of dissatisfaction overtook me, the restlessness I thought I'd left in Bon Temps.

It was true what they said: your problems followed you.

I was lonely too. A girl could only call home so often without seeming pathetic, and I missed Michele and Kennedy, Jason and his kids. The house. Pam. Hell, even Tara. I missed Quinn when he was out of town too, especially at night. The absence of his warm body on the couch, in my bed, made me yearn for his touch. I'd been spoilt with Sam, having my man constantly by my side.

As the nights drew in, I swore Quinn was away more than he was home. There I was, alone in a strange city, with no social life to speak of. I was miserable.

It came to a head in October.

Quinn had just gotten back from three nights in Dallas. Before he could catch his breath he was off again, to Florida, for two pack contests. He would be gone for ten days. My plans for Columbus Day weekend were a wash, I was irritated, and anxious. Quinn was expecting trouble. One of the packs was wound tighter than a spring.

Guess who insisted Quinn go? I saw it in his head as he was packing: that smug son of a bitch Tennessee. He was punishing us for defying him.

I sat on the stairs, pouting, as Quinn patted his jacket down for his travel documents. "I don't see why you have to go," I groused.

"I'm the best at what I do," he said mildly, flicking through his tickets.

"You just got back. Can't someone else go?"

Quinn sighed, tucking the tickets back into his jacket. "Babe, no-one else can handle the Tampa pack. It has to be me. It makes sense to do both jobs while I'm out there. Save a trip."

He was far too calm. It made me feel unreasonable, but I'd upped sticks to be with him and he was never home. I wasn't happy, no sirree. "And what about me? I hardly see you, Quinn."

He came over and pulled me onto my feet, melting my resistance with a warm embrace. "I miss you too, babe. I'll call every chance I get."

"You'd better," I mumbled into his shoulder, our heights evened out by the stairs. I squeezed him tight and he ran his hands over my hips, reminding me what I'd be missing most. He'd been exhausted when he got back the night before, and we hadn't had a chance to… reconnect.

A taxi horn honked. He pecked my lips and I waved from the doorstep, resigned to more lonely nights.

…

_The rumble in Quinn's throat tickled my ribs as he stretched up to nip me through my bra. I moaned happily and he moved back down, kissing my stomach on the way. I ran my hand lazily over his smooth head, scrapping my nails on the back of his neck to make him shiver._

_A faint ringing sounded, but my moans drowned it out as he planted wet kisses down my leg. He shifted on the bed, settling between my thighs._

_My next moan was less pleasure, more annoyance as the ringing sounded again, louder, closer. A phone. _

"_Ignore it," he whispered, lifting his head. His eyes blazed, almost black against his pale face. "Look at me," he urged and my hands fisted in his hair as he–_

The phone shrilled, loud and insistent, forcing me awake. I clutched at the dream to no avail as it dissolved, leaving me unsatisfied and inexplicably bereft. Sleepily, I flailed for the lamp switch and flopped back on the pillows, phone clutched to my ear and a hand shading my eyes.

"Mm, yeah?" I croaked, squinting at the time.

"Babe. Did I wake you?" Quinn's voice was soft and low.

"Mkay," I mumbled, yawning. I'd fallen asleep waiting for his call. "It's late."

"Sorry. Had a few problems."

That pulled me awake. "Problems? With the pack meeting? Y'all okay?"

"Yeah, all sorted now. Just wanted to hear your voice before I went to bed."

My heart melted a little. "Hmm. If you were here, you'd get more than my voice."

"Only seven more days, babe."

I sighed. "I'm counting down."

"Everything okay at home?"

"Yeah. Work was slow. I watched chic flicks tonight."

"Without me? Damn." The smile was right there in his voice.

"Yeah. Glutting myself on them while you're away. And eating all your ice cream."

"Don't you touch the peanut butter one," he teased. "That's all mine."

"Big talk from a man two states away. I'm holding it hostage."

"Oh really?" His voice dropped. "I'll pay a ransom."

"Is that so? Make me an offer."

"How about a different kind of dessert in exchange?" he rumbled, making me shift on the bed, warmth filling my belly.

"That might be acceptable. I do have a sweet tooth," I purred. "But I'm all alone. I might be tempted to eat the hostage before you get back. You better hurry."

He chuckled. "I will, babe, I will. Go back to sleep."

"Call me tomorrow?"

"Sure babe. Sweet dreams."

"You too, honey."

I sighed as I put the phone down. Sweet dreams were the problem. I was awake and horny as hell. There was a cold shower in my future, I just knew it.

…

I was late to work the next morning.

"The store's quiet," Ursula said, waving my apology aside. Peering at me and the coffee in my hand, she added, "Sit down a moment."

I perched on the edge of the chair, wondering what she wanted.

"Problems?" she asked, sympathetically.

"Oh. It's just … Quinn is away."

"Hm. My first trip to Africa, I cried every night for a week."

"Really? But you seem so..." Confident, assured. Internationally travelled. She'd been a professor in Chicago.

"I wasn't born seventy," she said, laughing. "I've had my share of homesickness. New places are unsettling. Fear of the unknown, you know." I saw a dark night in her memories, shadows running, angry shouts, pounding feet. "My work, my passion for the place kept me going back. Eventually Africa became a second home." She peered over the top of her glasses. "Memphis isn't home for you yet."

"I guess not."

"It takes time, putting down roots. Hm. Let's see …" She swivelled her chair, swinging to face the books behind her. She slipped a thin one from the shelf. "See what you make of this."

"Um, thanks." I wasn't sure poetry would help, but I appreciated her intentions. Gran would've hugged me and baked a pie. I missed that familiar comfort.

When I went out front, Meredith took one look at me and came over all sympathy and concern. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Great. I looked as pathetic as I felt. "I'll live."

She would have hugged me, I think, except I'd asked her not to touch me. Reading her made me uneasy. And I didn't want her getting all touchy-feely. I didn't trust the warm fuzzies I got from Niall, I didn't want Meredith starting that too.

Touch still shorted out my shields despite their persistent strength. Eric's blood was long gone and Wynn's tea was back in Bon Temps, so there was only one explanation left: accepting my ability somehow meant I was wielding it more effectively. I'd been picking up whole scenes from Quinn too, now and again. Better at tuning in, perhaps, after so much time with Sam and now Quinn himself.

"When does Quinn get back?" Meredith asked. She knew he was away, I'd told her that much.

"Monday." Six more lonely nights.

"Got any plans while he's out of town?" she asked innocently.

I gave her a hard look. Was she echoing Tara's judgey attitude, assuming while the tiger was away, I would play? I couldn't tell. Fairy attitudes to monogamy escaped me. I asked coolly, "Should I have plans?"

"Yes. Unless you enjoy pining for your man. Didn't women stop doing that after the sixties?" She frowned. "I never understood that fad for burning underwear. Foundation garments are a girl's best friend."

The old-fashioned phrase reminded me of Gran. Misplaced affection tugged at me and I brushed it away with annoyance. Meredith had a tendency to ramble, and use dated terms. A sign of her true age.

"I'm not pining," I denied. But I had been staying in a lot.

"You need a distraction. Some fun."

"Swanning about after dark isn't a good idea, remember."

"Daytime fun, then."

"Maybe." I realised what Ursula meant about putting down roots. Letting my life in Memphis revolve around Quinn wasn't healthy. I'd done that with Sam, and I knew better.

Meredith fiddled with her hair, a habit that meant she was plotting. "Are you free tomorrow afternoon?"

I was.

The store closed every Wednesday. Ursula was fond of saying, her eyes twinkling mischievously, that we had Sundays to love the one we were with, and Wednesdays to love ourselves. She had a very… earthy sense of humour for someone her age.

That Wednesday afternoon I found myself at _La Belladonna,_ a very upmarket beauty salon that was nothing like Janice's place in Jackson. Janice had made me feel welcome on account of her brother, but this place was a little intimidating. Everything screamed trendy sophistication, from the espresso machine hissing away in the corner to the tanks of fish nibbling on rows of perfectly pedicured toes.

The owner appraised my clothes and hair in a glance and found them lacking, but she was polite. She gave me a price list. Facials, Swedish massages, manicures, pedicures, seaweed wraps… The choice was overwhelming. If Meredith hadn't been there, I would have turned tail like my ass was on fire. I wasn't used to pampering on this scale.

But Meredith turned on her charm, and before I knew it I'd agreed to a haircut. "Less touching," Meredith whispered under her breath as we parted. She was off for a massage, blessed with perfect fairy locks.

My stylist introduced herself as Sienna. She was as perfectly groomed as Kennedy and much less welcoming than Janice. I watched in the mirror as she ran her long nails through my hair, her perfect eyebrows dropping a notch as she inspected it. The contact made her mind loud, and I floundered when she spoke.

"You have lovely hair. Very thick, undamaged. What did you have in mind?"

"Um, er … Nothing too radical."

The customer is always right, she told herself as we discussed styles. Even if I was, in her opinion, some backwater hick who didn't know a weave from an extension.

Which I didn't. 'Weave' had a whole other meaning for me, one that didn't endear me to fairies any better than Meredith's convenient disappearing act.

Unfair of me after I'd made it clear we weren't gonna be besties? Yep, but I sure could've done with some female support.

I let Sienna lead me to the sinks. As she massaged expensive shampoo into my scalp, I gritted my teeth and tried not to flinch at the flood of her thoughts. Once I was back in the chair, Sienna was professional and polite as she combed and snipped, but I knew better. Her Miss Manners act was as false as her nails and eyelashes.

And her name.

Apparently, the one she was christened with, Mary, was too plain for a stylist here.

The woman was talented though, transforming the one length girl-next-door look I'd had for years into a grown-up glossy mane. I turned my head this way and that, admiring the way it swished sensually over my shoulders. My hair was as soft as silk; and I couldn't resist touching it.

Enduring her thoughts had paid off. I was so impressed I gave 'Sienna' a generous tip.

…

James was stunned when I walked into the store the next day. I'd worn tighter jeans and a top with a lower neckline than I usually wore for work. Higher heels, too. I needed a boost after another lonely night. I hadn't spoken to Quinn since Tuesday, and a few short text messages weren't cutting it.

"Wow, you look gorgeous," James said.

"Thank you," I said, preening. He wasn't admiring Meredith for once.

"Your hair... You did something different?"

"Oh, just a trim," I said dismissively, smiling to myself.

"It suits you." _That boyfriend of hers is a lucky guy._

My smile grew. "That's real sweet of you," I said warmly and he smiled shyly back.

I was in a great mood all morning, even around Meredith. The haircut had been her idea after all. Between customers I stopped James as he was carrying a delivery out back, wanting to grill him about college, get the low down from the horse's mouth so to speak.

"So, who's your favourite teacher?" I asked, running my fingers through my hair, luxuriating in its softness.

James smiled, his brown eyes on mine as he put the box of books down on the counter. "Oh, Mr Wheeler. Watch out for Mrs Guevara, though. She's a killer. Took me hours to finish her last assignment."

"Good to know." His bangs were adorable, sun-bleached from brown to sandy. My fingers itched to brush them out of his eyes.

"You're signing up in the spring?" he asked hopefully. "Let me know if you need a study buddy."

"That's real kind of you," I said warmly, patting his arm.

_Not that she'll need my help. She's real bright._

I smiled wider. His thoughts were as cute as his hair. The bell over the door clattered and a gust of cold air blew in.

"I better get this unpacked," James said, hefting the box off the counter. My gaze lingered on his forearms as they tensed, and then the customer was asking me if his order had arrived.

I took an early lunch with Meredith, exchanging a secret smile with James when we came back and he went for his break. The store was dead. Meredith took the register and I was bored, so I tidied the shelves. Tucked away in a corner, my mind wandered to the romance I'd been reading. I'd put it aside when Quinn left – pointless getting my engine revved up with nowhere to go. It was, coincidentally, about a librarian. The hero had just found her on her knees between the shelves.

Like I was.

Daydreaming, I cast a rather attractive customer – an older man, like the hero in the book – opposite me as the librarian, and grinned to myself. That particular customer's thoughts revealed he wasn't interested in the fairer sex. His tastes ran in another direction entirely.

Getting to my feet, I dusted my jeans off and stretched to reach the higher shelves, still fantasising as my hands worked.

_I was wearing a pencil skirt and horn-rimmed glasses. The hero, tall and dashing, rounded the corner. Strong arms reached for me, pushing me against the shelves. He kissed me ardently, his passion breaking down my barriers, forcing me to realised I loved him, not my stuffy books. I murmured his name breathlessly._

"_Oh, James."_

Oh. Shit.

The book I was shoving onto the overfull shelf slipped and clattered to the floor.

"You okay there?" Meredith asked cheerfully, sticking her head round the corner.

I jumped, and spluttered, my face flaming.

"You want a coffee when you're done?"

"Yeah. Coffee. Thanks."

Mercifully, after giving me a puzzled look Meredith disappeared. Shepherd of Judea. How had James gotten into my daydream? Oh my Lord. Was I crushing on my sweet, way-too-young co-worker?

Quinn.

Never mind James being young. I had a boyfriend. One that hadn't been on my mind at all. I chastised myself soundly, roughly straightening the last of the books. I wasn't interested in James. Sure, he was cute but…

It was just a harmless daydream, I told myself firmly.

Ursula was making a coffee when I took my break later. She asked my opinion of the poetry book, and didn't judge when I said it wasn't my thing. Perceptively, she knew something was on my mind and asked how I was.

I hadn't talked to Michele or Kennedy about Quinn's long absences, embarrassed to tell folks back home my life wasn't going so swimmingly. But I really needed to talk to someone. Ursula was an older woman, wiser, calm. Like Gran in a way. I explained that Quinn's schedule was causing problems.

Ursula asked, "What does he do? You don't talk about him much."

I knew she didn't have a prejudiced bone in her body, so I took a depth breath and admitted, "He's a twoey. He runs twoey events, ceremonies."

"Of course. They'll have their own rituals," she said thoughtfully, very curious about that as an anthropologist.

I cringed. Jason's Hotshot wedding, the Longtooth pack contest – if anyone could accept the strangeness of the twoey world, it would be Ursula, but they weren't my secrets to spill.

Luckily Ursula figured twoeys would be secretive and didn't ask. Instead she said, "Is it his job that bothers you or the travelling?"

"The travelling. I moved here to be with him, and we're hardly… together." I hoped I wasn't blushing. I was too embarrassed to admit how much I was missing him physically. Enough to daydream about the nearest cute guy.

"I'm not the best person to ask, I'm afraid," she said. "I was never one for settling down. I've had affairs of course, but I never married. Never felt the need."

I'd seen two or three gentlemen featured in her thoughts with great affection. I asked, "You didn't want that?"

"No. I'm too selfish. Women are supposed to put their husbands first, or they certainly were forty years ago." _Like Beatrice. Michael first, then the kids, then herself. Poor Bea ran herself into the ground for them._ "My career was more important."

"There wasn't a man willing to put you first?"

"Hm. I doubt I'd find that attractive if there was. I don't fall for doormats." She chuckled at my surprise. "Only children need to come first, you know, and even then only up to a point. I always believed a true partnership should be equal."

"There was no-one like that for you?"

"One came close." She remembered him in bed, sleepy and warm. And then an argument about her leaving. "But he needed more of me than I could give."

"Oh. I'm sorry"

"I'm not. I don't regret it." She smiled, her eyes twinkling."I'm not very conventional, I'm afraid. I've seen too many societies to believe ours has all the answers. I did what was right for me. I think that's what you need to find out, Sookie. What's right for you."

Which was definitely more time with my honey.

I didn't think that was asking too much. Hadn't Quinn said he was serious about us? I was a healthy red-blooded woman and I felt… neglected. Something had to give. Quinn would just have to curtail his travelling. He wasn't single. It was time he made some changes. I sure had.

…

Quinn didn't quite see things my way when I raised the subject over dinner, the night after he got home. The first night we'd been too busy _reconnecting _to discuss anything.

He put down his fork. "Babe, you knew what you were getting into with me." _Know it's hard on her._

"I moved here for you, Quinn, not an empty house."

"I spend time with you," he protested.

"When you're here. But it's not enough."

He stared at me, his thoughts racing. _She doesn't understand … I get that she's lonely … No friends here … _He licked his lips. "Look, babe, don't take this the wrong way, but maybe if you had something to occupy yourself with then–"

"Occupy myself? I have a job. When I start college I'll have plenty to occupy myself, thank you very much. I turned my life upside down and you won't even cut back your hours? That's bull, Quinn. I thought you wanted this."

"I do," he rumbled angrily. His chair squeaked on the floor as he thrust it backwards. Abandoning his plate and the steak that I'd cooked blue, just the way he liked it, he paced the kitchen, getting a handle on his temper. _What more does she want? Jesus, I haven't been to a poker game since–_

My temper flared. "Am I cramping your style, Quinn? If you want to play poker with your buddies, I'm not stopping you."

His eyes flashed. "Don't throw that in my face. I spend all my free time with you, don't I?"

"I get it. You resent the clingy girlfriend."

"Don't put words in my mouth. I want to be with you, but I can't turn work down. I do that, the company suffers, my reputation suffers." _I've spent years building this, can't throw it all away._

"Nice to know I come second after your damn career." And he'd accusing Eric of putting his position before me.

"You're being ridiculous," he growled, pissed. "If you'd ever been more than a waitress–"

"I was part-owner of Merlotte's," I snapped, madder than a wet hen. I did the books and kept the bar afloat just as much as Sam did. "And I was damn good at it!"

"Then I'm sorry I don't own a run-down bar to shackle you to!" he yelled. "I'm not Merlotte. I don't hide from what I am!"

I threw my napkin down, getting to my feet. "I never said you were. But at least Sam was around when I needed him."

It was a cheap shot and I knew it as I stalked upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind me for good measure.

Quinn waited an hour to stick his head in. He coughed quietly. "You okay, babe?"

"Not really," I said.

He came in and sat on the end of the bed. "It's hard for me too, being on the road."

I picked at the bedding. "I just … I'm lonely Quinn."

"You homesick?" Those violet eyes of his were full of regret.

I shrugged awkwardly under the quilt.

"Give it some more time? For us?"

"I will. It's just... It's hard to meet people. Outside of work."

"I know, babe. The guys I play poker with, most of them work at Special Events."

I sighed. He had a point earlier, when we were fighting. The bookstore was a stop-gap, nicer than serving beer to handsy drunks, but not exactly world-changing. I was a teeny bit jealous of the fulfilment he found in his career, to tell the truth. I sat up, pushing the hair out of my face so I could look at him properly. "Your job's real important to you, huh?"

"Yeah. I can't leave the company in the lurch. If I let clients down, word gets around..."

His sense of identity was bound up in it, I read that from him clearly. Just as Ursula's career was part and parcel of who she was. She wouldn't compromise on it, even for the man she loved. And she did love him, I'd seen that.

Relationships took compromise though. If this was a deal-breaker for Quinn, I could be the bigger person.

I patted his leg. "I get it, honey."

"It'll get better, babe. Once Tennessee stops riding me so hard."

…

I pulled up my big-girl panties and insisted Quinn went to his poker game. I'd monopolised him long enough and he needed his friends too. It wasn't healthy to rely solely on one person.

Like I'd been doing.

But not any more. Meredith went to a yoga class on Wednesdays, in the studio next to the store. I went with her that week. Yoga was more demanding than I expected, I can tell you. All that bending and stretching, it was a wonder my old knee injury from Dallas wasn't throbbing by the end of it. But it wasn't. Hadn't hurt for a while, actually.

We went for coffee after, with some women from the class. It was great to do that without worrying about losing control of my telepathy.

Kate and Helena were best friends, middle-aged Stepford wives with expensive clothes and designer handbags. I found out Kate was an alcoholic from her friend's thoughts. Helena desperately wished Kate would kick her abusive husband to the curb and stop pickling her liver before it was too late.

What shocked me more was Helena talking opening about having an affair. The two younger girls didn't bat an eyelid over that. Julie was a soft-spoken vegetarian, into spirituality and meditation. She was a Buddhist, which I found fascinating. Her friend Donna was dating a twoey, and she took yoga to stay flexible for her girlfriend.

No-one was at all judgemental about Donna's choice of partner on account of her sex or species.

"Will you come again?" Meredith asked after they left. "I bet Quinn would appreciate the extra flexibility," she added, her eyes shining with humour.

"If he's around to enjoy it," I muttered.

Her eyebrows shot up.

I gave in and spilt the beans. After confiding in Ursula, second time was easier. I finished with: "His job means a lot to him, I get that. But he's away so much. Packs keep asking for him."

"He does have a reputation for keeping order." She sipped her coffee. "What about you Sookie? What rocks your world? You're wasted in a bookstore."

I shrugged. "I don't know. I like being around people. Need it really. Beyond that..."

"Telepathy is a rare gift. It seems a pity not to use it."

I snorted. "Nice idea. Trouble is the only ones who ever paid me for it were the vamps."

"Oh. That sucks." She pulled a sour face at her inadvertent pun. Vampires sucking on fairies was a touchy subject, I could tell. "It's a shame you can't find a way to use it."

"Folks don't take too kindly to me rooting around in their heads, Meredith. If they don't just think I'm plain crazy."

Except for law enforcement, perhaps. But ordinary cops would never believe I could read minds, and I had no wish to put myself back on the FBI's radar after the mess with Lattesta last year.

…

Quinn came back from his poker night smelling of beer and cigars. "Hello gorgeous," he said lifting me off my feet and twirling me around the kitchen.

"Quinn," I laughed. "Put me down."

"Nuh-uh," he grinned, pressing wet, sloppy kisses all over my face. I was giggling when he finally set me down. I kept my arms around him.

"I should let you go to poker more often. What has you in such a good mood?"

"Little birdie told me something."

"One of your poker buddies is a bird?"

He guffawed deep in his throat. "No, Dylan's a wolf."

"He's the one from New York, right?"

"Yeah. He's got contacts." Quinn's eyes were sparkling. "Tennessee's stranglehold on the company is weakening."

"What?"

"Yeah, that European money he was counting on. Seems the investors aren't happy with him ruling the roost. Dylan heard one of them is flying over. Wants to nose around, take an interest in the business."

"Is that good?"

"Yeah. They'll be interested in profits, not propping up Tennessee's empire."

"Well, that's great, honey." I smiled at him reassuringly. I wasn't so sure exchanging one vampire boss for another made any difference, but if it got me more time with Quinn I wasn't complaining.

...

* * *

A/N: So we get to see what Sookie's been up to for the last six months - but it's only 3 chapters, so we'll be back at the summit soon.

To Rose: Hi! Eric met Rory 7 days before Sookie left for England. A short time to Eric, but it was action packed, so probably seemed longer in the story!

Til next week, folks.


	24. Quicksand

Running a little late to today, but here we are. Thanks as always for the reviews.

* * *

**Quicksand**

* * *

I intended to walk a human path, but life was never that simple, not for me. The supernatural world sucked me back in, slowly and surely.

It started with a survey in some trashy magazine: _Are you ready to live together? _A moot point. We already were, and not exactly by my choice. One of the questions, supposedly a good test for whether we'd work out, was _Have you __vacationed__ together?_

Those quizzes were ridiculous, I knew that, but it stuck with me, gnawing at the back of my mind like a worm ruining a good apple. I signed up for college, picking online classes in case things in Memphis, with Quinn, didn't work out.

I hated those doubts. There was nothing wrong. Quinn didn't have any habits I couldn't stand. Things were good. I was content. Sure, I wasn't in love, not yet, but he wasn't either. I was okay with that, no convincing myself it was love when it wasn't, like I'd done with Sam. I would be patient.

A relationship took time, time to blossom, to bear fruit. I wanted things to work real bad.

…

Quinn stretched behind me on the couch. The full moon had left us both sated and tired. He tugged me flush against him, my back to his front, and nuzzled into my neck.

"We need to buy candy," I mumbled, thinking of having him to myself on the weekend, Halloween an afterthought.

"Babe," he said softly. "I have to go to Mississippi on Friday."

My eyes shut briefly in annoyance. "How long?"

"I'll be back Saturday."

I stared blindly at the movie playing on the flatscreen, an idea forming. "Where in Mississippi?"

"Starkville. It's a small place." _Small pack too. Good land to run._ "The packmaster is handing over to his son_. _Should be straightforward._" Just wants me there in case there's a challenge._

"Fancy some company? We could make a weekend of it."

He pulled back a little. "You sure?"

"I have Russell's protection. Why not?" I felt his smile on my neck, happiness from his mind.

"There'll be a game Saturday. Wanna go?"

I smiled. "Sure, sounds great."

I told Meredith, for politeness sake, slightly annoyed that I had to. Starkville was a wolf town with only a handful of vamps and the pack enjoyed good relations with the locals. Low risk, she said. She could pop in an emergency. She notified Russell though, politely.

It was, for supes, all very civilised.

…

Quinn booked us into a lovely hotel. While he went to the pack meeting, I pampered myself in the heavenly bathtub. The next day, we visited a farmer's market to buy pumpkins. The small town atmosphere was a pleasant change after Memphis, reminding me of home.

The football game was something else. We had great seats, from Quinn's contact in the pack. The home crowd was huge and very enthusiastic. Their minds washed over my shields, testing their strength, but they held, muffling the swells of excitement to a bearable level. Quinn came back with hotdogs and I reached for mine eagerly; the fresh air had given me an appetite.

"Thanks, honey," I mumbled around a mouthful.

He grinned. "Babe, you got a little mustard..." He wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb, eyes glowing warmly in the sunlight. He leaned in and I tilted my head, bringing our lips into line.

A female voice called loudly, "Hi there, Tiger!"

Quinn pulled back, looking round. Three women were walking up the steps, wearing short skirts despite the bite in the air. They stopped next to Quinn, making me regret our aisle seats. Up close their smiling faces were more girl than woman.

"Destiny," Quinn said, eyes on the skinny blonde at the front.

"Hi Quinn," chorused the other two, one of them giving him a little wave and the other giggling. Yep, definitely young. Barely twenty, I'd say.

"Jenny, Megan. This is my girlfriend, Sookie." He put a hand on my thigh, heat sinking through my jeans. Instinctively, I slipped my arm possessively through his and opened my mind.

My instincts were spot on. The three girls were werewolves. Destiny and Jenny were big, big weretiger fans. Fans who'd been granted access-all-areas passes to Quinn on previous visits.

I smiled politely through five excruciating minutes of hair flicking and fluttering false eyelashes long enough to sweep the floor. Gran would have been proud of my manners. As soon as they trooped out of sight, I pulled my arm out of Quinn's, memories of him flirting with the blonde bartender at Sanctum and Beth's comments about groupies souring my mood.

"Some warning would've been nice," I hissed under the noise of the crowd.

"I didn't know Destiny would be here," he said, trying to catch my eyes.

"Is that how it is Quinn, a girl in every pack?" I added sharply, "Or two."

He coughed, embarrassed that I knew he'd been with Jenny too. I couldn't say whether the implied promiscuity – which I hadn't considered a trait of his before – or the age difference horrified me more.

He said quietly, "I was single for a long time, babe. I'm not interested in them now."

Now.

How long would that last? Sam and that shifter. The maenad. The call of the wild.

Quinn took my chin in his strong warm hand and tugged gently until I looked at him. His eyes fixed on mine, he said softly, "We both have a past, babe. Doesn't mean I want to live in mine."_ Meaningless one-nighters. Not like I married any of them._

I closed my eyes, ashamed. Glasshouses and stones, Stackhouse. An ex-husband was serious competition, those hussies weren't. And I knew better than to judge Quinn by Sam's behaviour, just because they were both twoeys.

Quinn stroked my cheek with his thumb until I opened my eyes. "I'm with you," he said firmly, pressing his lips to mine briefly. "Those girls are just that. Girls. Got nothing on you."

He meant it, every word. I mouthed a sorry, and he grinned broadly, slipping a heavy arm around my shoulders. "No problem. You got jealous, is all."

"Hey," I said, pinching his side. "No gloating."

He chuckled, squeezing my shoulders and kissing my hair. I leaned into him, grateful we'd spoken about it, nipped it in the bud.

Sometimes this felt like my first adult relationship. I left so much unsaid with Sam. I never really challenged him about his flirting, some instinct or the magic keeping me from rocking the boat. Or I was in cloud cuckoo land pretending everything was fine and dandy. With Bill I barely discussed his feeding, and I ran every time things got difficult. With Eric, talk was a rarity and… Well, the less said there the better.

With Quinn, things were different. I was sticking around, confronting the tough issues. I gave myself a pat on the back. My relationship skills were definitely improving.

The rest of the game passed without incident, unless shouting ourselves hoarse every time Mississippi State scored a touchdown counted. Quinn was wistful, wishing he could bring his son to a game. I squeezed his hand sympathetically but didn't comment. Tigerjin had decided too much contact would confuse Deiderik at his tender age, but she wrote, sent pictures. Quinn sent her money regularly, but it was hard on him.

He didn't let it drag him down. Or dampen his appetite – he put away an enormous brunch that Sunday morning. I stuck to French toast, mindful of all the hotdogs I'd eaten the night before, and Destiny's skinny ass. We got back to Memphis in time to carve pumpkins and decorate the house.

Handing out candy was fun. I hadn't done that before; Gran's house was too isolated.

Michele emailed me pictures of Jay-Jay in his pirate costume, and homesickness tugged hard on my heart. I resolved to go home for Marie Adele's first Christmas, come hell or high water. I gave Niall a call, and he said no problem, he'd arrange it with Pam. But Stackhouse women weren't raised to let someone else do their dirty work, not even great-grandfathers, so I called her myself a few days later, after Quinn left for Atlanta.

"I'm coming home for Christmas," I said bluntly, adopting vampire phone manners. I was still angry with her for telling Eric I was in Memphis.

"Yes, Niall already called." She added warmly, "How are you, Sookie?"

I ignored her. "I want your word I'll be free to leave Louisiana."

"You always were."

"Please," I scoffed. "Don't insult my intelligence."

"I wasn't." The warmth was gone, replaced with dry sarcasm. "I told you Eric had no need of you, that you had his protection. If you believed hearsay to the contrary from the tiger, you haven't got any intelligence for me to insult."

"Your word, Pam," I insisted, my hackles up.

"You have it," she drawled, adding sarcastically, "If you trust it this time."

I gritted my teeth. "What about Quinn?"

"Leave him behind. He's still banned."

"Pam, that's effing ridiculous. This is a free–"

"Sookie," she said forcefully, her voice cold. "Quinn insulted Eric. A new king cannot be forgiving."

"Insulted him how? By dancing with me? Cheese and rice, Eric needs to get over himself."

"Whatever. Quinn is not welcome in Louisiana for the foreseeable future."

"Fine," I snapped. "And don't bother with guards. Niall has that under control." I slammed the phone down. Damn vampires.

I wasn't a fool. Sure, Eric gave me his protection. So did Felipe. Didn't mean a thing. The undead attitude was 'live in my kingdom, mine to use as I please, when I please', as Tennessee's behaviour had illustrated so well. However innocent Eric's intentions had been before I left, there was no guarantee they'd have stayed that way. Especially once Quinn was in the picture.

And Eric had certainly come running double-quick to reclaim me, his_ asset. _Whatever I'd meant to him in the past, his kingdom came first now. Pam had confirmed it, with that nonsense about insults.

I called Quinn, who took the news that he wasn't welcome in Louisiana with equanimity. He said Frannie wanted him to visit her in New Mexico. Fine with me, I replied tartly, we weren't joined at the hip. When he realised I meant to go home anyway he tried to argue, but nothing was keeping me from my family.

…

Quinn was in Atlanta for a week. I almost invited Meredith over to stop myself dwelling on all the twoey girls out there eager to bag themselves a tiger, but I didn't. Mostly out of a desire to stand on my own two feet.

I finally bought a laptop for college, and James offered to set it up. Meredith found us huddled over it in the break room, and raised her eyebrows at how close we were. I shot away from him like a scalded cat, which amused the hell out of her. When I asked her later if she was sweet on him, she laughed, and called him a child. It was hard to remember James was sixty years her junior when Meredith looked so young.

Ursula had started including books on feminism, civil rights and politics in her selections, and asking my opinion of them. At first I felt put on the spot, but she genuinely wanted to hear my thoughts, saying I had a fresh perspective on the issues. We had some lively discussions that I enjoyed immensely. That week, while Quinn was away, they provided a welcome distraction.

I went to yoga as usual. Over coffee, I groused about Quinn's absence, but not the groupies. Any jealousy was my problem. I trusted Quinn. He was sincere when he said those girls had nothing on me, his mind echoing his words. Quite a confidence boost, after the criticisms I'd heard in men's head over the years.

The girls at yoga knew Quinn was a twoey. None of them had batted an eyelid or a thought when I told them. Refreshing, after the folks back home. City folk were more relaxed about sex too it seemed; the conversation got pretty racy that day. Donna was into piercings – intimate ones, like the girl I'd roomed with in Rhodes – and she wasn't shy about over-sharing. I almost choked when she described the benefits in blush-worthy detail, loud enough for the guys at the next table to overhear.

Maybe that was why those heated, frustrating dreams started up again. Quinn got a very enthusiastic welcome home.

That European vamp had shown up. An Italian. I'd almost forgotten that well-deserved wrench in Tennessee's plans. Quinn was annoyed that the bozo was going through all his accounts and asking a whole mess of questions, but he endured it, thankful that Tennessee had to kowtow to him too – the investors the Italian represented controlled over half the company. Without Tennessee at the wheel, Quinn's scheduled eased up. I was looking forward to a quiet month.

Everything was going great.

Until Quinn got a call, out of the blue. From his contact in the Caucus, Elaine. A situation needing containing: a packmaster killed in suspicious circumstances, a hastily arranged pack contest.

In Houston, where those babies were burnt in their own home, just because their parents were twoeys.

The more I learned, the more the trip chilled me to the core. Quinn let slip mentally that the pack – Torn-Ear, didn't that name just inspire confidence – was notoriously volatile, and without a packmaster… Well, even Quinn was worried what they'd do. I didn't trust the local wolves anyway, having seen the grisly revenge that some of them were capable of in Lattesta's head.

"Are Tooth n' Claw still active down there?" I asked. Stupid vigilantes, stupid name.

"How d'you hear about them?" Quinn said, taken aback. _The Caucus want that kept real quiet._

I gave him a brief account of my kidnapping.

"As far as I know," he said, "they've disappeared. Gone underground."_ Rumours about Torn-Ear, though..._

"Torn-Ear is linked to those idiots?

"Maybe," Quinn admitted, not bothered that I'd heard him. I'd been honest about how easy that had gotten, another mistake from Sam I wasn't repeating. I reckoned Quinn was cool with it because he was comfortable in his own skin, furry or human. I liked that about him.

What I didn't like was the real bad feeling I was getting about his trip. "I have Stan Davis's protection. I should come, Quinn. I can read the locals, read the pack for you."

"No. It's too dangerous."

"Then you need an edge." He could be walking into a trap. The Chosen were clever, organised, and Quinn wasn't exactly low-profile. It took an hour of cajoling and insisting, but eventually he caved. I was going, as long as Meredith came along.

...

Lord knows how Meredith convinced Ursula to give us both time off. I didn't ask. Probably some fairy trick. The journey was frantic: scrambling for a direct flight, hiring a car, packing in an hour. My nerves were frayed before we even entered what I considered hostile territory.

Houston was intimidating, looming skyscrapers and traffic fender to fender. Scanning the minds around us as we drove through the city was a strain. Maybe I was paranoid, but Rhodes had given me a healthy respect for human hatred.

And I picked up plenty of anti-twoey thoughts.

Not that that was a shock. While I was in England a werewolf had been caught on camera attacking a Houston woman, in her home, in front of her children. I sympathised, having had similar experiences. In response local politicians were calling for registers of twoey businesses and notifications of twoeys moving in to a neighbourhood, that sort of thing.

How folk thought that would stop another big bad wolf ruining some kid's Christmas I didn't know. It wouldn't have stopped Debbie Pelt ambushing me in my own kitchen, but it would sure make it easier to target prominent twoeys.

Twoeys like Quinn.

The ugliness in Houston scared me. I was exhausted when we arrived at the condo. It belonged to a high-profile local twoey, only too happy to put us up if it got Quinn here faster. I didn't like staying there one bit. One search of the property register was all it would take to find out a twoey owned the place. Pictures of that burnt-out house swam before my eyes. Shivering, I pushed my telepathy out to its limits and checked the surroundings. Everything seemed clear.

After an uneasy night, we left early so Quinn could check the contest venue: a warehouse, desolate and abandoned, like the one Longtooth used. Quinn had no time to bring any fancy gear, so this would be a straight fight.

A cage fight. The cage sat in the centre of the dirty concrete floor, no padding on the bars, a thick layer of sawdust on its floor, and rust on the wires. Dark red rust. Probably rust. Quinn wrinkled his nose at it and I supressed a shudder.

Not rust.

No wonder the Caucus guy was worried. Quinn's shoulders rippled as he reached up to test the supports, and I lost myself in the past for a moment, a warm tongue licking my leg clean in another warehouse.

Shaking the memory away, I got to work. A mental sweep confirmed there was no-one outside. The two female Weres who'd let us in were setting up a table near the doors, intent on their task. The older one was slim and energetic. She had short brown hair with a few strands of silver, and laughter lines around her eyes. Her jeans were designer, her blouse expensive. The girl had the same colour hair, minus the silver, but she shopped at Wal-Mart.

"Y'all need any help?" I offered.

The woman glanced between me and Meredith, who was checking exits, her footsteps echoing across the cavernous space. "We got this, honey," she said kindly.

"I'm Sookie, by the way." I held out my hand, intent on reading her.

She shook it, quick and firm. "Liz Carter. And my niece, Brandy." _Sookie. I know that name. Where from?_

She was hiding something about Brandy, but otherwise she was on the level. Brandy was heading for the door so I couldn't use the same trick to read her. The girl was sullen, but that was written all over her face.

"You been to a pack contest before?" Liz asked, opening a tube of red plastic cups.

"Just one."

"If this one doesn't frighten you off, nothing will," she said wryly.

"Oh?" I kept my face mildly curious. "You expecting trouble?"

"Not with Quinn here. But Torn-Ear are a wild lot, especially this close to the moon. You ready for that?"

"Uh-huh." Full moon was two nights away, another reason Quinn hadn't wanted me here.

She glanced up from her task. "Quinn doesn't usually bring friends." _Hope she's not a distraction._

"I'm watching his back."

Her eyes flicked to Meredith, who was quite obviously keeping an eye on me. _Can't be much use to Quinn if she needs a guard herself._

I cursed silently, wishing Meredith was on better terms with discretion. Fairies didn't do low key, they thrived on attention. So did Brandy, who was flirting with Quinn for all she was worth.

Liz tutted under her breath. "Brandy," she called. "I need that other cooler from the truck. Now."

"All right, Aunt Lizzy. Jeez." Brandy scowled and stomped off.

Liz shook her head. "Teenagers. Sorry about that." _Hasn't been the same since her dad died._

I shrugged. "Quinn is kinda well-known. He attracts attention."

"Must annoy the heck out of you."

"Sometimes," I admitted. Liz had a wedding band. "Your husband got a stake in this fight?

She straightened up. "My husband's dead. Car accident last year." _Murdered. And Gary right after that… _Her mind swirled with pain and grief, and I lost the thread of her thoughts.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to hit a nerve," I said quietly. Gary. Her brother, Brandy's dad. The name rang a bell, but I couldn't place it. Deciding honesty would work better than beating around the bush, I met her eyes. "Liz, is there anything Quinn should know? Anyone that might cause trouble?"

She tilted her head. "Watch out for Red."_ Won't let him or his friends near Brandy._

"Red?"

"Thinks he's God's gift. Can't miss him, size of his ego." She rolled her eyes. "Everything's bigger in Texas."

…

Quinn stood at the door, stern-faced and laying down the law as the place filled up with red snarly minds, pulsing with anticipation. I got some odd looks. Humans weren't exactly welcome, but being Quinn's girl prevented outright hostility. I stayed near the drinks – no alcohol, no need to fuel the flames – and read men in biker jackets and women with grim faces as they came over in twos and threes.

I didn't picked up anything about the last packmaster's murder. Or about Tooth 'n Claw, but that was long shot. I could hardly drop their name. What I did get was a lot of wolf-pride, how twoeys were better than humans. And an image of that burnt-out house, followed by a rush of sympathy for Liz, who knew the family. That came from within a group, and I couldn't pinpoint the source.

Red, however, was easy to spot. Well over six foot tall, ginger hair, bulky frame and a loud, braying laugh. The son of one of the contenders, he was young, handsome, and a quarterback on one of the new twoey teams. Nasty attitude to women too, him and his hangers-on. Their minds left me feeling grubby.

Two of them were scoring the female pack members, including Brandy with the 'sweet little ass'. Fifteen year-old Brandy. She was chatting to an older girl, and flattered they all kept glancing at her. Good Lord, she was desperate for attention, poor kid. Red and his gang began joking, none too quietly, about who they'd like to 'do', attracting some stink-eye from older Weres, male and female. Quite a few were praying Red's dad didn't win.

I could see why Liz didn't want him anywhere near her niece.

When they began to discuss my charms, Quinn heard them, looked over at Red and growled. Just the once, his eyes flashing amber. They shut up real fast, but I breathed easier when they drifted towards the cage. Most of the pack followed, leaving me chatting quietly to Meredith. I happened to glance over at the cooler as a woman in a scruffy denim jacket stepped up to fill a cup.

Something about the scene jangled. Knowing better than to ignore my instincts, I looked again.

She was standing real close, hiding the cup she was filling with her body. I didn't hesitate, shifting to my left to get a better view, focusing on her mind. She was nervous, excited. Concentrating on her hands as she slipped something back into her jacket.

"Meredith, I'll take that," I said, snatching the empty cup from her hands. Walking briskly over to the trash bag tied to the table, I brushed past the suspicious woman, noting her dyed blonde hair and chewed fingernails as I locked onto her. I followed her with my eyes and mind as she walked away.

_Be calm, be cool… Just a few minutes more... Gotta get the tiger to drink this…_

Oh hell no! I darted after her.

Quinn was talking to the two contenders. He took the cup from her automatically, but he didn't lift it to his lips straight away. She stood at his elbow, waiting, bouncing on her toes.

"Don't drink that, Quinn!" I warned quietly as I came up behind him. "She put something in it."

The woman startled. She was about to bolt, but Meredith walked up behind her and grabbed her elbows firmly.

Quinn sniffed at the cup. "You sure babe? I don't smell anything."

"Check her jacket. Left side."

The bitch snarled and struggled in Meredith's grip. Quinn frisked her like a pro, pulling a vial out of an inside pocket. "This it?"

"Yep." I latched onto the woman's wrist, glaring at her. She spat insults but I ignored them, forcing myself into her mind and picking it clean. Outraged, I got progressively louder as I announced: "It's tasteless. Fast acting. Hard to trace. It could have been fatal."

Shit. Too many eyes on me. I lowered my voice, grabbing onto Quinn's arm to reassure myself he was still warm, still alive. "Nancy here was going to poison you, then plant the evidence on her fella, Jack. He cheated on her, then dumped her. She wants him torn to shreds."

I shuddered. She 'loved' him and that was what she wanted? Cheese and rice.

Quinn growled softly, dropped the vial on the floor and crushed it under his heel. "Babe, anything else?" he asked, jaw clenching. "Any other interference?"

I shook my head. I hadn't caught anyone thinking about sabotaging the contest. "Not as far as I can tell."

Quinn raised his voice. "This bitch tried to poison me. She shames your pack. How do you intend to punish her?"

There were growls of disapproval. A guy, small and dark, stepped forward. Jack himself, looking pained. "Wait. This is my fault."

I snorted. A broken heart didn't excuse murder. His or Quinn's. A rumble went through the crowd, but Jack straightened up, turning to them. "No harm was done," he called out with a bit more backbone, surprising Nancy enough that she stopped struggling.

"Only thanks to Quinn's woman," called a big guy wearing a bandanna and a battered leather jacket. He'd been talking to Jack a moment earlier. "I told you that bitch was trouble."

Jack called out again, louder. "Kick her out then. Abjure her. That's punishment enough. She's got family in Dallas. She'll go there. Right, Nancy?"

Nancy nodded furiously.

It was that or the fate she had planned for Jack. I wanted to smack her teeth in for endangering Quinn, but I wouldn't wish that on anyone, nor did I want to witness it. The rumble rose and fell as the pack came to a consensus. Quinn looked at both contenders, who nodded in agreement.

They were in a merciful mood. I was thankful; I wouldn't have to watch her torn apart.

Meredith released her grip and Quinn frogmarched Nancy none too gently out the door. I followed, checking she wasn't about to do anything stupid, but she was subdued, trying to work out why Jack had spoken up for her.

"Maybe Jack isn't a psycho," I muttered. She looked at me in surprise as Quinn pushed her outside.

Slipping his arm round me as we watched her sorry ass leave, Quinn whispered, "Thanks, babe. I shouldn't have taken that drink. If I'd gone down, they'd have rioted."_ Unruly fuckers._

I was appalled at how calm he was. "Quinn, you could've been–"

"I doubt it. Not the first time I've been poisoned." He grimaced.

"The pits?" He didn't talk about that.

"Yeah. I've got a strong constitution."

Before I could ask any more, Liz came over, shouldering her handbag, her niece in tow. Brandy was whining. "Why can't I stay? This is my pack. Dad's pack."

"You're not old enough," Liz said calmly, as if it was an argument they had often. Probably was. She nodded at Quinn, who nodded back and let go of me.

"Good to see you, Liz," he said. "Take care of yourself."

"You too." She smiled, reaching to shake my hand. S_he's a dark horse. Impressed she spotted what that bitch was up to. _"You handled that well. Pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise Liz," I said. "You leaving?"

She nodded towards the cage, grimacing. "Yep. Not my pack."

"Oh. Right."

Bandanna guy waved at Brandy as they left. Quinn shut the door after them, slamming the bolt home. "Ready, babe?"

"Yep." I squeezed his hand, turning back to the room. I saw money changing hands, bets being placed. As if the stakes weren't high enough.

As we passed Bandanna guy he said to Quinn, "She should leave too. Too close to the moon, man."

Quinn hesitated momentarily, worried Nancy might hang around outside, waiting for me. "She stays. She can look after herself."

I appreciated that he hadn't made me sound weak.

The fight was brutal and bloody. Meredith and I stayed at the back, and I didn't look up until the crumpled loser was carried out, barely alive. Red and his gang were cheering his father's victory, the cheers deepening when two young women in robes came out of a side-room. Why had I thought this was a good idea? I knew what was coming next, and this time I only had one fairy to hide behind. I kept my eyes on the concrete, but the whooping alone made bile rise in my throat. Meredith stepped in front of me, and I looked up. Her eyes were wide, concerned.

Shit. Over her shoulder, I saw Red and his friends pawing at girls too. Clothes were being ripped aside. It wasn't just the new packmaster getting his rocks off. The place was about to go full-scale orgy on us.

"Get me out of here," I squeaked, ashamed of the fear in my voice.

Meredith popped us right into the truck. I was so relieved to be out of there and in a locked vehicle, I didn't even complained about the bruise on my rear end from the stick.

...

Quinn startled me awake when he pulled the truck door open, his eyes flashing in the dusk, his face not quite human. He leaned in and kissed me hard, his lust washing over me like a living thing.

He growled against my lips, "You okay, babe?"

Breathless, I could only nod, secretly relieved that his clothes were intact. He loped around the car. Judging by his mood, he'd kept control of himself inside, but now all bets were off. He was a tight ball of frustration.

Twice on the way back to the condo I had to ask him to slow the car. Once we were there, Meredith ducked out to get food. Quinn picked me up and carried me to our room, kissing me all the way.

"You okay with this?" he rumbled as we got to the bed.

"Uh-huh," I said through a mouthful of his neck, pressing myself against him. None of those bitches could have him. By the time Meredith came back we were tangled in a mess of sweaty sheets, both of us panting.

….

We left Houston unscathed, for which I was heartily grateful.

Two days later I got an irate call from Niall. Tennessee had broken the news of my trip, and hearing it from a vamp had not filled my great-grandfather with joy. Firm words were exchanged.

I snapped sarcastically, "Would you like written notification every time I sneeze, Niall?"

"No, don't be ridiculous. But I had hoped you would confide in me," he said stiffly, offended pride a definite undertone. "We are family."

"Oh. Honestly, the trip was such a rush I just assumed Meredith had told you."

Turned out she hadn't because he was respecting my wishes – I'd been adamant he wasn't to interfere in my life. Realising I'd been harsh, I apologised.

Niall sighed heavily. I imagined he was pinching his nose in frustration. "Child, is this something you want to do? Assist the tiger in his work?"

"I just wanted to keep him safe. Houston is not exactly welcoming to twoeys right now."

"The tiger can look after himself," he said sniffily. "There was no need to put yourself at risk."

"We're together, Niall. I'm gonna look out for him," I said warningly. He might be my elder, but that only bought so much respect, not blind obedience. Remembering him pooh-poohing Sam's lack of political clout I added, "You know, the Caucus wanted Quinn there. He commands a lot of respect amongst twoeys."

"Humph. It may have been a favour for the Caucus, but officially he was working for Special Events. Tennessee accused you of interfering in his business."

"Interfering? I was looking out for Quinn!"

"Of course. But I cannot be seen to be meddling in vampire affairs through you, and that is what Tennessee insinuated. He will turn the situation against you if you are not careful."

"So … I can't help Quinn out?"

He sighed again, unhappily. "There may be a way to circumvent Tennessee. The Italian asked to meet you. See what he wants, it may be to your advantage."

"What? I don't want anything to do with vampires!"

"Then don't involve yourself in their business, even if the tiger is up to his ears in it," he snapped. There was a pause. "It is time to learn how things work in our world, Sookie. A world you became part of when you accepted my protection."

I groaned. I knew that was going to come back and bite me on the ass.

"If you have your heart set on assisting the tiger," he continued, "you must negotiate a compromise you can live with. Unfortunately I'm needed elsewhere, but I have faith in you. Find out what the Italian wants, but agree to nothing."

"Fine. I'll handle it." I had plenty of experience telling vampires to get lost.

…

The Italian was sitting at a quiet corner table in Marcie's. He was very different from Tennessee at first glance. A solid man, turned in late middle age, grey-haired, with leathery skin and pockmarked cheeks. He was wearing an expensive suit, gold cuff links flashing as he stood to greet us.

"Come, come. Sit, please," he said, gesturing enthusiastically at the empty chairs and smiling warmly at us. If I didn't know better I'd think he was a human businessman buttering up some clients. Then he turned to the waiter, snapping his fingers imperiously. "The wine list."

As he turned back to the table steel flashed in his eyes and I glimpsed a whole different vampire, one that would smile like a shark as he snapped your neck. Power and threat rolled off him. He was used to be obeyed without question. More Godfather than friendly uncle.

And I didn't mean fairy godfather.

"Please, order," he insisted as the waiter handed me the list. He smiled broadly. "The wheels of commerce need lubrication, no? And in wine there is truth as my ancestors said."

Quinn was scanning the restaurant as he spoke. He brushed his hand against my knee, sending me mental flashes of what he'd seen. After I approved the wine – the Italian smelt it himself, commenting that he owned several vineyards – the waiter skedaddled, and the vampire began.

"My name is Lorenzo Bertolini." His voice was a rich baritone, with the wonderful lilt of Italian. "It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Stackhouse."

"I can't say as it's a pleasure for me. Not until I know what you want."

Bertolini laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Straight to the point. That is good, very good. So, I shall be just as blunt, yes?"

"Start with why you have men here," I said, indicating one of them with a tilt of my head. Three of them, all in suits, all armed Quinn reckoned.

"Si. My guards, Miss Stackhouse. I am, how you say, a long way from home. And," he leaned forward, "I do not trust Signor Bardulf. In this we are agreed, I think. It is why you won't work for him. No?"

"Perhaps."

"He has taken that poorly. But enough of that. I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. You have a rare talent."

"My telepathy," I said coldly. Good Lord, didn't these guys get I wasn't interested?

"Yes, of course, but you don't pick a hunting dog just because he has a nose. A nose is useless without the ability to outwit his prey. The talent I meant was your intelligence, your quick thinking."

He was talking me up some, wasn't he? That made me wary.

He gestured between Quinn and me. "You make a formidable team. You dealt with the Houston situation very tidily." I wondered exactly how he'd heard about that. "I couldn't miss the chance to persuade you to work for us while I am here."

He could take a long walk off a short pier. I had Niall's protection, I didn't have to work for vamps. I folded my arms. "I'm not Tennessee's asset. Or yours."

He raised his hands. "Of course. That was Tennessee's mistake, he was heavy-handed. You Americans are notoriously independent. But you need not fear losing your autonomy, you have Brigant's protection. And what I am offering will not compromise your freedom."

"I don't want to work for Special Events." I wanted to protect Quinn, nothing else.

"But you already have." He glanced slyly at Quinn, so fast I almost missed it. "How much were you paid for Houston?"

Quinn stiffened, tension rolling off him.

The Italian sucked his teeth when I stayed silent, and wagged a finger at Quinn. "A shabby way to treat a woman of such quality, John Quinn. She acted as your bodyguard. You should have reimbursed her expenses at the very least."

Under the tablecloth, I dug my nails into Quinn's thigh to stop him growling and he cleared his throat awkwardly with a deep cough. I said firmly, "I insisted on paying my way, Mr Bertolini. It's what modern American women do."

"It was a business trip. And you protected our reputation. Imagine the embarrassment if Quinn here was drugged, unable to complete the task he was hired to do, and that pack meeting descended into chaos. Miss Stackhouse, we, the company, owe you." He slipped a hand into his jacket, and slid a check across the table. "Please, accept this for your time. It is not excessive."

A thousand dollars. It wasn't excessive, but it more than covered my expenses. I didn't lay a finger on it.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. Only that you consider my offer. I would like to hire you as a consultant, reporting only to the tiger. No permanent contract with us, no obligations to Tennessee. You can pick and choose your assignments, set your own terms within reason. Pay will be generous, but," he shrugged, "you must arrange health insurance and the like, pay taxes to your IRS. You will be, effectively, your own boss. A woman of your calibre should be in control of her own destiny, yes?"

I blinked. It sounded too good to be true.

He smiled, wide and toothily. "I see you have not considered such possibilities. These New World vampires lack flair, if none have offered you this. It would be more fulfilling than selling second-hand books, no?"

"I'm not interested," I insisted. I was intrigued, sure, and maybe slightly excited by the rosy picture he was painting, but he was a vamp. Even if my gut instinct was telling me I could trust him, I was still wary.

His dark eyes locked on mine. "Oh, I think you are very interested. I will leave you to think it over. Please, dinner is on me."

He left the check on the table. I didn't take it.

…

When we got back, I busied myself making coffee. Watching me, Quinn hung his jacket over one of the kitchen chairs and said, "You were quiet in the car, babe."

I turned to face him, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "I had a lot on my mind."

He waited patiently while I ordered my thoughts. I liked that about Quinn.

Mr C's advice from months ago was rolling around my head: Negotiate from a position of strength. Bertolini was real eager to secure me, bending over backwards in fact. I figured that gave me a lot of leverage. I'd softened some when he flattered my intelligence, but his last comment was the one that hit home.

I didn't want to dust books all my life.

"Do you think Bertolini is on the level?" I asked.

Quinn shrugged. "You thinking of taking him up on it?"

It meant seeing more of Quinn, travelling… I could study around trips, put my telepathy to some use, keep him safe. Get paid.

"Maybe. If I stuck to twoey stuff..."

"You'd be safe enough," he finished. "Specially now you can read us better. We worked well together in Houston."

I smiled. "Yeah. We did."

He looked me up and down, smiling."You do bring a lot to the table."

"I do?" I took his coffee over. He wrapped an arm around my waist as he took the cup.

"Yes, you do." He squeezed my hips. "You're bored at the bookstore. Admit it."

"Maybe." I put my coffee down and ran a hand over his head and down his neck. He shivered. "Take me to bed, Quinn."

He didn't need to be told twice.

…

Spending Thanksgiving together was wonderful, but I missed cooking in Gran's kitchen. We planned to visit a few of Quinn's poker buddies at the weekend, have a few people over. I was so much happier than I'd been the previous year.

Even with Bertolini's offer hanging over me. A courier had delivered a thick contract, right before the holiday, with that damn check attached. I put it aside, lost myself in turkey and candied yams, the smells of home.

I found Niall sitting on the front step when I came back after a Black Friday shopping spree with Meredith and Donna. Quinn was an accommodating boyfriend, but I didn't expect him to traipse around two dozen stores with me on one of the busiest shopping days of the year. He was at a buddy's house. Niall tended to turn up when he wasn't around. And he still hadn't learnt to call first.

"Hi, Niall," I said cheerfully as I unloaded the car. "How are you?"

"Well. You are happy, child." He took some of my many, many bags and pressed a kiss to my head as I nudged the trunk shut.

I grinned. "A girl's gotta shop."

We dumped the bags in the den, and I ushered him into the kitchen and heated some leftovers for us. We compared holiday traditions as we ate. Fairies had some big autumn feast that came closest to Thanksgiving, and Niall approved of the traditions started by the Pilgrim Fathers when I explained them.

"So, what are you thankful for?" I asked.

He smiled. "Having you in my life, despite all the trouble you bring."

"Trouble?"

"Bertolini has made you an offer."

Oh. This wasn't a social call. "Yes. How d'you know?"

"He asked permission. He is more respectful than Tennessee," he said approvingly. "You are considering accepting?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Maybe. If I can be my own boss, no ties to the vamps. I can't see the harm."

Cocking his head, he examined me closely. "Whilst I am happy to see you taking a fuller role in our world, I worry for your safety. Shape-changers can be… ill-disciplined."

The orgy in the warehouse. I raised my chin defiantly. "I can look after myself."

"I admire your spirit," he said fondly. Then he spoilt it, adding, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Meredith must accompany you. I made that clear to the vampire."

He went over the contract carefully, showing me what to look for, checking I had an out or six. It was all very eye-opening. And strange. Supes were never that open. He was almost … helpful. In an indulgent, grandfatherly way.

Niall deemed it acceptable, with a few amendments. That was how I finally set foot in Oklahoma.

...

The Tulsa job was a trial run. True to his word, Bertolini gave me free choice of the trips Quinn had scheduled before Christmas. I chose the one least likely to involve trouble: a wedding. Between a witch and a packmaster's daughter. Her father's favourite daughter so it was a grand affair, but plenty of plain old humans were attending. It might even be fun. Canapés and champagne, not blood and broken bones.

A light dusting of snow covered the garden outside, and pale winter sunlight shone through the tall windows onto an abundance of white ribbons and flowers, but I had no time to admire them. The caterers were short-staffed – flu season – and I missed most of the unorthodox ceremony filling in for a sick waitress. Now I was circulating, _listening _to the twoey guests.

"Canapé?" I winked, offering Quinn my tray. He looked amazing in his tux.

Quinn grinned. "Thanks."G_reat having someone to talk to. Misse__d that when Frannie left. _"Anything to report?"

I shook my head.

"Mm, these are good." He leaned closer to snag another and whispered, "Not as tasty as you in that uniform."

The skirt was short, and Quinn was a leg man. I laughed. "I'm not allowed to keep it, honey."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the bride's father came over to speak to him. I moved away to mingle. I didn't hear anything untoward, unless you counted some catty mental commentary about the bridesmaids' dresses. I went to get a fresh tray. Chicken wings this time, something meaty for the twoeys.

One of the older werewolves was watching Quinn intently, his thoughts a little more snarled than the usual. I made sure to brush his arm when he took a handful of chicken, wishing I hadn't when I got a blast of what was playing in his head. A pit fight: the crowd baying and a tiger, my tiger, smashing a wolf down onto the sawdust and tearing out its throat, blood spraying in an arc.

My stomach heaved as the old guy tore noisily into his chicken, but I stayed put while he licked his fingers clean and smacked his lips. I needed to find out if he was thirsty for revenge. If the murdered wolf had been a friend…

Nope. The old wolf was a fan. He admired Quinn, how viciously he fought. Nothing disturbing about him except his table manners.

And the brutal reminder my honey was a killer.

Seeing things I didn't particularly like about Quinn's past was inevitable. The more I worked alongside him, the fewer secrets he'd have. Those hitches from Amelia's spell were a rarity since Houston too: Quinn was letting me in, trusting me with more of himself, his life. That was a good thing. Secrets had done me no favours with Sam. I needed to know Quinn, warts and all. Try to accept him for who he was, bloody past included.

I squared my shoulders and dealt, moving on towards the bridesmaids. The human bridesmaids, who all hated the bride for picking green dresses. None of them wanted fried chicken, so I circled the room.

Two brunettes and the bride's mother were hanging on Quinn's every word. Twoey brunettes. Flirting. I could practically smell the lust evaporating off them. I made a bee-line for Quinn, but the groom and the best man stopped me. I willed them to fill their plates faster, smiling politely.

The bride's mother had a voice that carried. "Been a while since I've seen you in Oklahoma, Quinn."

Quinn shifted uneasily, aware of me watching him. I didn't catch his reply, but the brunettes were loud too. One giggled and simpered, the other said, "Wasn't it that big vamp wedding? The one in Okie City."

My heart sank to my kitten heels, the ones I'd worn for Quinn that were beginning to pinch. I locked on to her thoughts.

Yes, she did mean _that_ wedding. I hadn't heard a whisper of _that_, not from Quinn's mouth or his thoughts.

Or had I?

Months ago I asked Quinn if Tennessee was friendly with Felipe, and he'd had one of those broken thoughts about Bardulf recommended him to Felipe for a job, something about bad blood between Quinn and … someone.

Damn Amelia and her spell. 'Someone' wasn't Felipe as I'd assumed, never questioning why on earth Quinn would want to work for him ever again. Felipe and Freyda were all buddy-buddy back then. 'Someone' was Eric.

_That_ wedding hadn't cropped up once in Quinn's thoughts since we got to Oklahoma, which was mighty strange. Unless he'd been deliberately hiding it.

My eyes snapped to his violet ones. They were sheepish, regretful.

Pitying.

I turned on my heel and hightailed into the kitchen, my chest tight. I needed air. Once I was standing amongst the cigarette butts by the trash cans, I wondered why in the hell I hadn't expected it. Quinn covered Oklahoma. And vampire weddings. Of course he was there.

But it was a humiliation I wished to hell he hadn't witnessed. I shut my eyes, loathing the pity I'd seen in his. I was sure Felipe hired Quinn just to punish Eric some more for Victor's death. But why would Quinn agree? Did he–

Footsteps crunched on the gravel.

I whipped round, reaching out mentally: twoey, wolf, focused, alert. My eyes filled in the rest: medium height, stocky, buzzcut red hair fading to grey. The suit under his cashmere coat said wedding guest, but I hadn't seen him inside.

"Miss Stackhouse?" he said, stopping, hands raised, loose and empty. "You okay? Cold to be outside without a jacket."

"How d'you know my name?" Spotting another guy watching us from the corner of the building, I took two quick steps back towards the door, my hand going to the pager in my pocket. Meredith was seconds away. "Who's your friend?"

"Isabel Beaumont sent us to keep an eye on you. Couldn't come herself." He squinted at the sun to make his point.

"What for?" I backed up another step and he grinned, lopsided. From his emotions, he was impressed.

Staying where he was, he turned to his buddy and waved him off before he replied. "Keeping you in one piece. A certain fairy envoy threaten to kick Isabel's ass if anything happened to you in her territory."

"Oh. And you are?"

"Jephson. David." He looked pointedly at the space between us and back up at me.

Not reading any ill intent, I waved him closer. He took off his coat and offered it to me. Now he'd mentioned it, the cold was starting to bite so I let him wrap it around my shoulders.

"How's Isabel these days?" I asked, slipping my arms into the sleeves. Toasty. Weres and their hot blood.

He grinned again, boyishly. "Cold as a wet fish. You know her?"

I laughed. "That's vamps for you. Is she a good queen?"

"She's fair. Damn sight better than the last one."

My eyes widened, but before I could say anything the door opened behind me. We both turned. Quinn. His face hardened and he growled low in his throat.

"Boy, you ain't got big enough balls to be growling at me." Jephson, David, was amused, not a tense bone in his body. Not many wolves stayed relaxed when Quinn growled.

Quinn came up real quick, and wrapped an arm around me, tugging me back against him. He was not a happy kitty. "Jephson. You bothering my woman?" _I can take him this time. Fucker is ageing._

"She look bothered?"Jephson winked at me. I rather liked him.

Hiding a smile, I pulled away from Quinn. I wasn't happy with him. "Everything's fine. Isabel sent them."

"Them? What for?" _Babe, if there's trouble nod your head._

I didn't. "Niall had a word. They're watching out for me."

"That's my job." He sniffed pointedly at the coat I was wearing.

Jephson shrugged. "The lady was cold."

"Come back inside, babe," Quinn said stiffly.

"Thanks for the coat, Mr Jephson." I handed it back over. "Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine, ma'am." He tipped an imaginary hat at me.

Quinn snorted derisively and made for the door, tugging me along. I waved cheerily and called, "Say hi to Isabel for me."

I pulled away from Quinn once we were inside. He opened his mouth but I stopped him with a glare: a busy kitchen was not the place to talk. We had it out later that night, in the hotel room.

"First Destiny, now this," I said, angrily tying my robe closed.

"Babe, I didn't want to–"

"Rub it in?" My eyes narrowed at the streak of perverse glee buried under his regret. "We're in Oklahoma, it was bound to come up. I don't appreciate that kind of surprise."

"I didn't want to upset you," he insisted.

"Newsflash: you did. I don't want your pity, Quinn. Next time, just tell me the damn truth." I slammed the bathroom door, and flicked the shower on. I needed a moment alone after what I'd just seen in his head.

No wonder Quinn thought Eric would retaliate when I left Louisiana: I was right, it wasn't about me. It was their stupid feud. Quinn's motive for attending Freyda's wedding: sticking it to Eric, getting one over him. Not an attractive trait, and one Quinn had tried to hide from me.

He didn't get much joy. Eric appeared completely unflappable in his memory of the wedding. But I just knew Eric was keeping score and vampires never forget.


	25. Home Ground, Home Truths

A mega chapter today. Let's say it's in honour of the solar eclipse I saw this morning. Enjoy!

* * *

**Home Ground, Home Truths**

* * *

December was peaceful. I worked another twoey job over in Nashville, which went as smooth as silk – the pack couldn't have been more different to Torn-Ear in Houston. The packmaster had been real impressed; I'd given him a head's up about some trouble brewing with his younger wolves. And I'd caught a few women regretting that Quinn was still off the market. Damn straight he was, and I was pleased it was common knowledge.

The holidays came round real fast. I left at dawn on Christmas Eve, my car trunk stuffed with presents and excitement swelling in my chest. Meredith took first stint at the wheel, and I blew Quinn a kiss as he waved from the porch. He was flying out to his family later, and it felt odd to be the one leaving.

The long road-trip was almost pleasant. No fights over the radio, just easy conversation and comfortable silences. Meredith didn't even complain about my singing. And, when we finally pulled up at the house that afternoon, she said, "Oh, it's lovely. Charming."

That went along way with me.

I got out, drinking the place in. Lord, I'd missed it. The garden didn't look as neglected as I feared. Someone, Jason I guessed, had pruned the roses. Gran would be pleased. The one Sam had given me was still going strong. The house... Well, Jason had cleaned out the gutters, and Michele had aired the place out, but the house looked empty.

Unloved.

Faint, familiar smells hit me when I opened the front door, triggering a rush of nostalgia. I'd spent more time away than here in the last year. If I stayed in Memphis much longer, I'd have to rent the place out. Maybe even sell up. I wasn't ready to face that.

I gave Meredith a tour, still in our coats. The house was warmer than outside, but hardly toasty. Everywhere I looked I saw a dozen memories of Jason or Gran or my childhood. Notches on the door frame, scratches on the furniture, family photos. Meredith took my childhood room, across the hall from the one I almost called Gran's my mind was so caught up in the past. I took my suitcase in there expecting the faded wallpaper of my youth, and the décor I'd picked out with Sam made me miss Gran terribly.

Things changed, life moved on, I told myself sadly.

After I'd unpacked, I went to light a fire. Jason had put up a tree, insisting the place didn't look right without one. I suspected he'd roped Michele into decorating it. The kitchen smelt heavenly and there was a plate of cookies on the table. Bless Michele: she'd baked here, warming the house and my heart.

There was a note besides the cookies, signed with two wobbly Js. Smiling, I imagined Jay-Jay, covered in flour, standing on the step Gran had kept for me and Jason, 'helping' Michele by eating chocolate chips.

Meredith came in. "Something smells good."

I swallowed the last of the cookie I'd taken. "Help yourself. I made coffee, and there's eggnog."

"Decisions, decisions. Coffee first, eggnog later?"

"Good plan. We'll have company shortly."

"We will?" She nibbled on her cookie. "Mm. These are delicious."

"Baked with love, Gran would say. I called Jason 'bout fifteen minutes ago. Word will be round by now."

"Small towns are the same everywhere," she said lightly. In the car she'd mentioned growing up in the Appalachians, overlooking the Shenandoah. Real banjo country, she'd called it.

She looked around the kitchen. "Do we have enough food for visitors?"

"Oh, this is Louisiana, honey. Folks won't come empty-handed."

...

"Well, you look great Sookie," Michele said. "Memphis suits you."

"Thanks," I said, bending over Jay-Jay with a damp flannel.

"Robbie du Rhone, how on earth did you get frosting in your hair? I need a damn hose," Tara huffed, hustling the her son towards the bathroom. The twins were running her ragged, and we'd hardly had chance to speak.

Jay-Jay scrunched his nose as I wiped his face. I ruffled his hair. "All clean, champ."

"What do you say, son?" Michele prompted.

"Thank you, Aunt Sookie," he said shyly.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." His speech was coming on so fast. And no frosting in his hair. Little Marie Adele was sitting on the floor between Jason's legs. I couldn't believe the change in my niece at six months. She had the cutest smile.

The kids were too young for the Christmas Eve service. I'd rather be here than keeping that Stackhouse tradition anyway. Gran always put family before church. In more ways than we knew, I thought, thinking of Fintan. Gran would just have to forgive my spotty church attendance in Memphis. Quinn wasn't one for organised religion and I hadn't found a church that fit, although I'd tried a couple.

Playing hostess, I collected dirty dishes and snatches of conversation. Everybody and his wife had come over, filling the house with life and laughter. Gran would approve of that, and so did I.

Meredith was coming out of the kitchen carrying a plateful. "You weren't kidding about the food," she said, smiling. "Don't worry about the dishes. I'll do them later."

"Thanks." Fairy godmothers had their uses.

Meredith had offered to make herself scarce, but Gran, who was on my mind, would have tanned my hide if I'd banished a guest to her room, especially one who'd given up her holidays for me. I'd introduced her as a co-worker: a half-truth, not an outright lie.

No-one knew who Meredith was, not even Jason. I hadn't wanted to explain the trouble with Tennessee, or flaunt my relationship with Niall. So far, neither of Jason's kids showed any sign of that mysterious spark that would ignite his interest. Michele had family enough on her side to make up for Niall's absence anyway.

Hoyt was in the kitchen, drinking beer with Danny and Ryan. Cody was hanging out with them rather than the little kids, the novelty of his baby sister worn thin already. Newborns did not impress eleven-year-olds. I'd done my share of cooing though – baby Amber was adorable and, even better, slept through the twins creating chaos.

I stacked the plates in the dishwasher, listening to Hoyt's fishing tale with a smile. It was great to be home.

…

Quinn called early Christmas morning to thank me for the shirts and ties. I loved the cute pink cashmere sweater and the tasteful gold necklace he'd given me and told him so. His hints at a more X-rated present when we were back together had me blushing, but as I was still in bed no-one saw it. Hearing his voice, having that moment with him, it sure brightened the rest of my day.

With only a smidgeon of remorse I left Meredith alone and headed over to Jason's. I spent the day spoiling my nephew and niece, opening presents, stuffing myself and generally making up for lost time with my family. With the world shut out, I was Sookie, beloved aunt and sister, problems checked at the door.

The world didn't stay out for long. When I got home, Niall was waiting on the front porch, bearing gifts. After hugging me he said sniffily, "There's a vampire in your woods."

"Bill?"

"The Greek."

I shrugged. Thalia was Pam's go-to guard and I was in a charitable mood. "Probably just keepin' the rest of them away."

Pursing his lips, Niall followed me inside. Meredith was nowhere to be found. His gifts turned out to be the garden tools that I'd asked for – Quinn didn't have many – and a pair of elegant drop earrings that I hadn't, but appreciated all the more for that.

Retired Princes were difficult to shop for, but Niall seemed to like his socks and cuff-links. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, thanking me with the warm fuzzies. I thanked him with hot chocolate and marshmallows, which was a big hit. Niall had a sweet tooth.

And, sweetly, he didn't talk about supe stuff. We talked about books and movies. He had a thing for old Errol Flynn swashbucklers and Audrey Hepburn. I teased him about that. Gently, in keeping with the season.

Spending time with him was an unexpected gift in itself.

…

Humming a carol, I headed for the kitchen the next morning. Meredith was already there, wearing reindeer slippers and a fluffy robe.

"Morning, Sookie," she said cheerfully. "You sound happy."

"It's good to be home," I said, making a beeline for the coffee pot.

"That's the fairy in you."

"The fairy?" I said, distracted from my quest for caffeine.

She cocked her head. "Fairies form a connection with land they live on. It becomes… welcoming. You didn't know that?"

"I've only got a dab of fairy." And sharing the house with her better not change that. I pulled my robe tight, coffee forgotten.

"A dab might be enough. The imprint here is strong."

"Imprint?" I wrinkled my nose, unsettled by the suggestion some hokey fairy buzz had made me feel at home, not memories of my childhood and Gran.

"Of our magic, our essence."

"Oh. Niall's blessing is gone though."

"Yes. And the portal is closed. But Fintan and his children spent many years here. The land has a long memory."

Meredith was more plain-speaking than most fairies I'd encountered. Maybe I should take advantage of that. "You can feel this… essence?"

"Yes. All fairies can. Sky, water or common land."

Huh, three sorts. I wondered which Meredith was; I hadn't asked. I said casually, "Niall reckoned my love of tanning is a sky thing."

"Sunlight replenishes those of the sky," she recited, singsong. "Fast-flowing rivers and the salt sea for those of water born, rich soil and nature's bounty for those of lowly earth."

"Oh." I always felt better after a spell in the sun. Wynn had known that, back in England. And I remembered Rory, barefoot on my lawn, 'recharging'. Guess she was common land, if she was fairy at all. "Which are you Meredith, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Land. Our strength is in our numbers. Sky and Water are fewer, but generally pack a bit more punch, magically speaking."

"Is gardening a Sky fairy trait too?" I asked, remembering something Niall once said.

"All fairies are drawn to nature. Many are skilled with plants, or animals. But Brigants aren't known for their green thumbs." She side-eyed me. "Their mule-headedness and pride is legendary, though."

"Claudine wasn't proud." But Claude was. And Niall. And me.

"Claudine took after her mother," Meredith said, smirking. "More stubbornness left for the rest of you."

I stuck my tongue out at her, reaching for the coffee. "Want some?"

"I'll stick with tea, thanks," she said, raising her mug. "Oh, you're almost out, by the way."

I frowned. "Of tea?"

"This one," she said, waving at the green tin box on the counter.

Wynn's tea. "Oh, shoot. I don't know that's safe to drink."

"The tin is keeping it fresh. Who made it? It's a good blend."

"Someone in England." I reached for the tin and peeked inside. Two teabags left. "I… Do you know what it does?"

She gave me a strange look. "Yes, of course. It calms, brings clarity, insight."

Guess Amelia had worried over nothing; nice to know my instinctive trust in Wynn wasn't misplaced.

"Well, enough lolly-gagging, fairy," I said breezily. "I have family coming and food to prepare." I hadn't seen Hunter in a coon's age.

Later, when I took a moment to change before everyone arrived, it struck me how perceptive Wynn was. Clarity was exactly what I needed to make sense of my failed marriage to Sam, my telepathy, my whole damn mixed-up life.

I'd stuck to my guns about accepting my telepathy, but sadly circumstances had dashed that clean slate I was going to give Eric. I considered taking the remaining tea back to Memphis, but decided against it. Things were going just fine.

…

Jay-Jay refused to let go of his newest stuffed animal and, inevitably, split gravy on it. Michele snatched the tiger out of his hand and took it to the sink, ignoring his wail of protest.

"Hey, did you know tigers like to swim?" Hunter said kindly, patting his distraught cousin on the arm.

Jay-Jay stopped hollering. "Dey do?"

"Sure," Hunter said. "He's just swimming in the sink. He'll be right back."

"Way to go Hunter," Jason muttered. "Now he'll want the damn thing in the bath."

Michele rolled her eyes at me. Jason was butt-hurt that his son was acting like a three year old and ignoring the expensive toys my brother had bought in favour of the cute tiger from me and Quinn.

Which was not a veiled reference to Quinn's superiority, whatever Jason thought. Heck, practically every sports team in Memphis had a tiger mascot. If being a bitten werepanther made my brother feel inferior, that wasn't Quinn's problem or mine.

_Well done, Hunter, _I thought at him as Jay-Jay calmed down._ Just ignore Uncle Jason._

Hunter flashed me a grin._ Thanks. You're my favourite Auntie._

_I'm you're only Auntie, cheeky._

Hannah nudged Remy and whispered, "Hunter's so good with little kids." She was pleased, thinking Hunter wouldn't mind a brother or sister. I wasn't sure Remy wanted more kids, but at least Hannah was considering Hunter's feelings.

Remy winked at Hunter. "Reckon I could hire him out as a babysitter."

Hunter's eyes widened. "I'm not old enough, am I?"

He'd picked that right out of Hannah's head. He was real good at disguising what he heard, much better than I'd been at his age.

My momma's rejection had sure set me back, but I was finally reaping the benefits of self-acceptance. Hunter had that advantage already, and it was great to see him so relaxed and happy. Today was just family, and he was handling the 'noise' just fine.

It helped that Hannah put anything Hunter blurted out down to kids being sensitive to psychic influences, ghosts, the paranormal, whatever. She was flaky, but well-meaning, and she genuinely liked Hunter. He was going to run rings round her if she became his step-mom for real.

After lunch Hunter helped me clear up. He put up with my interrogation about his schooling, knowing I worried he was getting picked on. He waited until I'd finished to ask me the question I'd been ready for ever since he arrived.

_What's Meredith? Her mind's all... bright._

I sighed. _You remember Claude?_

He frowned at the image I showed him: Claude playing with Hunter in the park that time I babysat him.

_Not really. Wow. I was little._

_Uh-huh. Claude was the same as Meredith. A fairy._

_Oh... Do they have wings?_

I chuckled and shook my head. _No, and they're secret so –_

_No talking about it._ He rolled his eyes. _I know. I'm not a little kid._

_You're not too big to pick a switch, buster. You watch that sassy mouth._

He grinned. _Who is she? The lady saying that to Jason in your head?_

_You saw that, huh? That was Gran._

_Show me her again?_

_Sure, Hunter._

Sharing Gran with him was a perk of telepathy I hadn't considered, and an unexpected comfort. Another generation could get to know the woman who raised me with so much love.

I didn't tell him Claude was his distant cousin. Hunter had even less fairy blood than I did, and I hoped he'd never need to know. When we rejoined the others, I had him practise focusing on one person. He did well, but tired after twenty minutes. Making him work at a family get-together wasn't fair, but I wasn't sure when I'd see him next.

Teaching him my hard-won experience gave me a sense of kinship with Gran, who'd passed so much of her own wisdom to me in that house. I'd just about made peace with the secrets she kept and the choices she made.

…

After two days with family it was girl-time. Kennedy, Holly, and Penny met me at Crawdad's for lunch. Meredith was wandering round town, a pager away; Michele and Jason were off to her parents for the day with the kids; Tara was busy. Or so she said on Christmas Eve, but I suspected she was avoiding me. I hoped that didn't mean she'd taken up with Clive again, or some other guy who wasn't JB.

It was a boisterous meal, the four of us talking over the top of each other at times. We were on our second bottle of wine when Penny began relating how her five year old caught Ryan sleeping over.

"Oh, Sookie you should have seen it. Tyler had his hands on his hips, giving Ryan stink-eye. Poor Ryan didn't know where to look. He was beet red."

"Must've been embarrassing, getting caught in your bed," Holly said.

Penny smirked. "He wasn't. Tyler found on him on the couch at the butt crack of dawn."

"Aw," Kennedy said. "Your Ryan's so considerate."

Penny leaned forward. "Oh, he didn't spend the whole night on the couch." She wiggled her eyebrows and we burst out laughing. One of the waitresses gave me a pointed look from across the room and I hushed my friends.

Holly took her phone out for the umpteenth time, and Penny rolled her eyes. "Amber is fine, Holly."

"It's only the second time I've left her."

"Hoyt is just adorable with her," I said. He was already wrapped around Amber's tiny finger.

"I know," Kennedy whispered. "Those big hands holding that little baby. So precious."

Holly grinned. "Is my husband makin' your ovaries tingle?"

Kennedy shook her head, laughing. "Uh-uh. You know I don't want kids."

"You don't?" I asked. I'd guessed as much, but she'd never come right out and said so.

"No. Danny doesn't either. It's not for us." She took a sip of wine and asked soberly, "What about you, Sook? You and Quinn getting serious?"

"Oh. Yes…" We hadn't talked about kids, though. I had no idea if he wanted any. After Deiderik. With me. If I could, after everything with Sam.

Penny was frowning at me. I shifted in my chair, realising I'd been catching flies for too long, and said lamely, "It's early days."

"You ain't sick of him yet," Holly said lightly. "That's a good sign."

"Yeah, it is." I looked down at my plate, then smiled to myself. "He brought me breakfast in bed before I left."

Kennedy nudged me. "Little more than breakfast with that smile."

"Kennedy," I scolded playfully. "A lady never tells."

"Good job you ain't no lady then," Holly said, and Penny giggled.

"So, Sook, is the man proportional?" Kennedy asked with a grin.

"Oh hush," I said, throwing my balled-up napkin at her, and catching another glare from the waitress that had us all stifling giggles. I'd really missed them. I was at ease with their teasing, with none of the discomfort and uncertainty I felt around my new girlfriends in Memphis at times. Maybe there was something to being the big fish in a little pond.

The chocolate fudge cake was to die for: who counts calories during the holidays? We moaned over our desserts, trading spoonfuls. While we waited for coffee, Penny excused herself to the restrooms.

"So," Holly asked, "how's the bookstore?"

"Oh, great. No drunks. No fights. Not unless we get a rare first edition." They laughed. "And I start college in a few weeks."

"Good for you," Kennedy said, patting my arm. _Worried she might give that up, dropping everything for Quinn like that. Wasn't like her._

I could take offence at that, but I was in a good mood and it was mostly true.

"Whatcha studying?" Holly asked.

"Accounting and psychology."

"You'll be managing that bookstore in no time," Kennedy said.

I laughed. "I don't think Ursula is quitting any time soon."

"Isn't she seventy?" Holly said. "Oh, is she," she lowered her voice, "a supe?"

"Oh, no. She's just not one for sitting idle." Penny wasn't back. I took a deep breath. Holly was a witch and I trusted Kennedy – if I couldn't come clean with them, who could I tell? "Actually, I'm not just working at the store. I'm working with Quinn too." I tapped my temple. "As a consultant."

"What does he do again?" Kennedy asked.

"He's an events planner. For supes."

"Oh," Kennedy said, taking that in her stride like I knew she would. "Does that pay well?"

"You betcha," Holly said. "He's real famous with twoeys. Like a rock star. Our Sookie got herself a catch there."

"Yeah?" Kennedy frowned. "Is he okay with you working with him?"

"Sure, he's real supportive." He had been too, and he was proud of the way I handle myself with the Nashville pack.

Penny came back and the conversation turned to unwanted Christmas presents, and awkward relatives. I thought warmly of Niall. Things between us weren't awkward at all. He'd made a real effort to understand my human ways, and we'd gotten a lot closer.

...

Danny showed me how to make a video-call when he and Kennedy dropped me home. That would be real handy for keeping in touch with Jason and his family. Eager to try it out, I called Amelia to be guinea pig, and she appeared on my screen five minutes later, dress in sweats, with Felix in her lap.

"Hi Sookie," Felix yelled excitedly, his dimples showing.

I chatted to him until he slipped off Amelia's lap to go play. "Hi Ames, how are you?"

"Oh, exhausted," she said, laughing.

"You look great."

"Yeah, right. If you ignore the bags under my eyes. Worth it though." She shifted off camera for a moment, coming back into shot with the cause of her sleepless nights in her arms. "Meet Iris. Isn't she lovely?"

Beaming, she held her new daughter up. Iris stretched her tiny hand out of the blanket she was swaddled in, yawning widely.

"Hey, Iris," I said quietly. She was beautiful, but she sure wasn't Bob's. "She's gorgeous, Amelia."

Amelia cooed at her, nestling her against her chest. "She is."

"And you're okay?"

She looked up, eyes twinkling. "Yes, I am. Bob... That's over."

"Y'all are divorcing?"

"Uh-huh. I'll be free," she said, smiling down at Iris and stroking her face.

"Is he being reasonable about custody?"

"Yes. I think he's as relieved as I am, actually."

"What about Tyrone?"

"Doesn't want anything to do with Iris." She snorted. "Fine by me. He's a total idiot."

I agreed. Iris was beautiful; Tyrone's loss. "You got some help?"

"I've hired a maid. And a manager for the shop. I'm fine, Sook, really. I have the money to do this. Being a single mom's the best decision I ever made."

"I'm glad it all worked out."

"Me too." She grinned at me. "Rosa's readings always come true."

I rolled my eyes. So far, after the initial problems with Tennessee, my path hadn't been so rocky.

I called Quinn that night. It was good to see his face, even behind a screen. Things got a little heated, but Meredith chose a particularly inconvenient moment to knock on my bedroom door, asking if I wanted hot chocolate. The moment lost, I signed off.

I'd been short with Meredith though, so to make up for it I invited her to dinner the next day.

Merlotte's was busy. Penny greeted us with a big smile, and Kennedy waved from behind the bar. Hoyt hollered hello from across the room and Maxine flashed that red lipsticked smile that meant I was the juiciest piece of gossip around. Catfish jumped up from his table as we passed, giving me a bear hug and a scolding for staying away so long. Playing the fool, he kissed the back of Meredith's hand too.

We sat down and ordered. It was all perfectly normal, nothing I hadn't done a thousand times. But it felt... weird, uncomfortable.

Like putting on an old pair of jeans and finding they don't fit.

Like squeezing into someone else's life. I hadn't been Crazy Sookie for months, but that was all most folks saw when they looked at me. I was picking up admiration and jealousy in equal parts.

_Looks good. Fancy clothes…_

_Look at her with her city airs, thinks she's too good for us… _That was Maxine.

_Should get my hair cut like that…_

_Dress as fancy as she likes, still trash underneath. Running after one of them animals instead of a proper man._

I stopped listening. Oh, I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even angry.

I pitied them. Most of these folks hadn't been out of state, hadn't marvelled at a Renoir, danced to… I realised how elitist I sounded, but damn, there was having simple tastes and there was plain ignorant.

Sure there were decent folks here, folks like Catfish and Kennedy that I was proud to call friends. The rest were petty and jealous – that's what it was, underneath all the tired Crazy Sookie jabs. Jealous because I'd hadn't let them pull me down to their level.

And rise above them I would. Bon Temps was home, but I didn't need to take their crap.

No-one had a bad thought about Meredith though, her fairy sparkle hard at work. Several guys puffed up their chests and came by our table to talk to her. That, more than anything else she'd done, reminded me of Claudine. We were almost finished eating when Tara came in, with a woman I vaguely recognised. Tara's face tightened when she saw me, but she came over, buddy in tow, and stood by our table.

"Hi Sookie. Meredith," she said, with an uncomfortable smile. _Known her for all of two minutes, and they're inseparable._

My smile was tense too. Tara didn't want me in her head, and I complied once I heard that. Things were chilly enough between us. Of course, I had no way to tell her I was respecting her wishes, so she didn't relax any. Clearing my throat I asked, "Hi Tara. Hi...?"

"Valerie," Tara supplied. "From the strip mall." That was where I knew her from: Cut 'n Curl.

"I haven't seen you in a while Sookie," Valerie said.

"Um, no. I moved up to Memphis last summer."

"Oh, I see." Valerie lost interest in me, although she cast a professional eye over my haircut.

They didn't stay long. I reckoned Tara felt I'd abandoned her for a more glamorous life, and she was holding that against me. You sure couldn't please everybody. Seemed Tara was only my friend if I lived my life on her terms.

That stung.

Sam came out to the bar and spoke to Kennedy. I waited for him to look over and smiled. He smiled back, real friendly, but stayed where he was. Reckoning it fell to me to make the first move, I told Meredith I'd be right back and went over.

"Hey, Sookie. Back for the holidays?" He was unexpectedly relaxed.

"Hi Sam. Yeah, until Friday."

Kennedy finished serving a customer at the other end of the bar and called over, "More iced tea, Sook?"

"Please," I said, grateful for the distraction. Sam was looking me over and I was determined to stay out of his head.

"You look good," he said warmly.

And he didn't resent me for that. "Thanks. You too. Business looks better."

"Yeah, things have really picked up."

"No Stephanie tonight?" I asked casually. "You haven't chased her off?"

He laughed. "No. She's in Jackson, visiting her folks."

"Oh, right." I took a sip of the drink Kennedy place in front of me, covering while I thought of something to say.

Sam didn't have that problem. "So, how's Memphis?"

"Just great. Lots of things to do. Museums, fantastic music. The art galleries are wonderful."

"Didn't know you liked that sort of thing."

I shrugged. "Not like there are any round here."

"You don't miss home?"

"Oh, people mostly. Some of them." I bit my lip, and glanced at him quickly. "Friends."

"Yeah. I missed my friends from Wright when I moved here," he said softly. He glanced round. We were momentarily alone at the bar. "No trouble with Tennessee?"

"Some. But it's sorted."

He cleared his throat. "I heard you're working for Special Events."

The twoey community was small. "Yeah, as a consultant. Just twoey stuff."

"That Quinn's idea?" He sounded off-hand, but he was suspicious.

"No, mine. He's not forcing me into it, Sam."

"I was just asking," he said, raising his hands. "He's looking out for you, though? Pack meetings… Well, I don't have to tell you how dangerous they get."

Remembering him on the ground, bleeding out, I winced. "I know, Sam. But crossing the road is dangerous."

"Just because Quinn takes risks, don't mean you have to."

I gave him a level look. "I'm making a life with him, Sam."

"You two serious, then?"

"Yes. Why so surprised?"

"I expected… Never mind. Doesn't matter." He smiled wryly. "Just don't let him rope you into anything too wild."

Thinking of Jannalynn, I said a little sharply, "No-one's perfect, Sam. Maybe Quinn's career isn't as safe as running a bar, but I'm happy."

He grimaced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to butt in. I just worry about you, cher."

I sighed. "I know." I patted his arm, warm through his shirt. "You're a good friend, Sam Merlotte."

He put his hand over mine and squeezed. "You too, cher."

Speaking of looking out for friends, I asked, "Did Eric give you any trouble after I left?"

"Nope. Haven't seen him."

"He didn't come looking?"

He shook his head. "Didn't see Pam either." His mouth tightened. "Bill showed up a few days after you left."

I groaned. "I take it he was … difficult?"

"He was pissed when I wouldn't tell him anything, yeah." He ran his hand through his hair.

"Sorry you had to deal with that." Why would Bill care? Sure, we'd been neighbourly when I left, but not particularly close. "Think Eric sent him?"

"No. He'd have sent Pam or come himself." Sam was still feeling mellow towards Eric.

That was odd, but as Pam knew where I'd gone and why, Eric really had no reason to come asking. I said, "Well, I'm glad things have been peaceful."

"Yeah, they have." He glanced over at Meredith. "New friend?"

"Um, sort of. Present from Niall, you might say."

"Oh. You be careful, Sook. His kind are devious."

I rolled my eyes, hearing Bernie in his words. "Sure, Sam. Well, best get these drinks over."

"Have a good night, cher."

"You too, Sam. If I don't see you before I leave, take care of yourself."

"You too." He squeezed my hand, and we went our separate ways, my heart lighter.

We'd been friendly. Almost back to normal.

…

Back at the house, Meredith scanned the tree line as we got out of the car.

"Vampire," she exclaimed, grabbing hold of me and popping us straight to the porch. I staggered, disorientated by the abrupt change of scenery.

"Give a girl some warning," I muttered. "It's probably just Thalia."

But it was Pam who appeared at the porch steps, fangs down, wearing jeans and a dark coat, her hair scrapped back in a tight bun.

She growled. "If you hurt her fairy, I'll drain you dry."

Meredith grabbed my wrist again.

"Wait!" I said. "Pam's a…" Not a friend, someone who betrayed me to her maker.

Meredith stepped in front of me and said firmly, "Leave vampire. I guard her with my life."

Pam leaned nonchalantly against the handrail by the steps. "That's Sheriff to you, fairy," she drawled. "I have no intention of hurting Sookie. You, on the other hand…"

She smiled wickedly, her pupils huge and black in the porch-light, and Meredith's grip on my wrist tightened painfully. She was trembling slightly.

I nudged her. "Go inside, Meredith. It's okay. She can't get through the ward."

Meredith turned to me, her eyes dark with concern. She warned, "Stay inside it, Sookie."

"I will."

She disappeared into the house. Meredith didn't mollycoddle me, or boss me around, and I appreciated that.

I stepped to the front of the porch and folded my arms. "What do you want, Pam?"

"Hostile much?"

My temper flared. "Tell me, when you got my letter, did you wait a whole minute before telling Eric where I was?"

Speaking slowly she said, "You were in danger. Danger I could do nothing about. I went to Eric to beg his help. And I do mean beg."

"Yeah, right," I snorted.

She stared at me, eyes wide and unblinking. "It is not the first time I have gone against him for you."

"You want a medal? I didn't want Eric involved."

"Tennessee is not someone you mess with."

"Quinn said–"

"Oh, I'm sure Quinn said a lot of things, but I've known Bardulf the Butcher a tad longer than the tiger."

My hands went to my hips. "Oh yeah? Well, Quinn sure wasn't wrong about Eric being an interfering jackass. What's the deal, Pam? If I can't be Eric's, I can't be anyone's? Hell, he banned Quinn faster than butter meltin' on hot corn."

"Yes. Because Quinn almost handed you to another kingdom."

"Leaving was my choice, one I was perfectly free to make. And Quinn doesn't owe Eric a lick of loyalty."

"Luckily," she sneered. "Quinn's loyalty isn't worth tuppence round here. Look, whatever Eric said that sent you running for the state-line–"

"I wasn't running from anything your damn maker said," I said hotly.

"My bullshit meter says otherwise."

"I left to be with Quinn."

"Whatever," she said, lifting a doubting eyebrow. "I don't believe Eric would have interfered had you stayed, Sookie."

"Really? He sure didn't waste any time chasing me to Memphis and demanding Tennessee return his _asset."_

She blinked. "I was there. He did not."

"That's not what Tennessee said," I snapped.

"And you believe him, not me?" Her fist tightened around the railing, her knuckles whiter than bone. "Fuck a zombie, Sookie. Was I ever your friend?"

"Only when it suited you," I said more bitterly than I intended. "Eric first; vampires first. I know how it is."

She glared at me. "If that was true, I'd have snapped your neck long ago, you ungrateful fool!"

I flinched at her tone, and the wooden railing groaned in her grip. She took a deep, unnecessary breath and peeled her hand off it. She continued calmly, "I am a friend, Sookie. You should have come to me."

"You'd have gone straight to Eric."

"No," she denied fiercely. "I would have talked some sense into you. Like I did when you asked for advice about your marriage, remember? Back when you trusted me."

"Pam, I–"

"Don't," she snapped. "You're right about one thing, Sookie. If you only see me as Eric's _flunky_ then we can't be friends. Your loss."

Her fangs were down, but I could see pain in her eyes. Shit. She was hurting. I tried to explain. "You're too close to him. He can command you to–"

She laughed, unhappily. "Eric, for all his faults, has never commanded me to choose between you. He, at least, is aware how badly that would go."

"He doesn't need to." The bitterness was back in my voice. "I asked you to keep one thing from him. One thing. I sent that letter thinking I could trust you."

"Please. Don't kid yourself. You sent it to make yourself feel less shitty. I spent twenty-four fucking hours thinking you were dead in a ditch. Or worse."

I winced. "I couldn't tell you sooner."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. When she opened them, her face was blank. "He is my maker and my king. You knew I had to tell him. If I did it quickly, that was for your benefit."

"I…" I didn't know what to say to make this right. "It's not you, Pam. Eric is just so–"

"Don't blame him," she said sharply. "This is between us, Sookie. Have I given you reason to distrust me?"

I swallowed. "No."

"Is it fair to insist I side with you over my maker?"

"I… I didn't mean to put you in the middle of all this."

"But you did." She frowned. "And Eric did not ask Bardulf to return you."

"Well, whatever Eric said it sure piqued Tennessee's interest," I muttered sullenly.

"Yes. Appealing to Bardulf did not go well." She looked away, lips pursed. Shit. That had probably caused trouble for her, or for Eric. She added, "So Eric called Niall."

"What?" Eric told Niall?

"Niall didn't say?" Pam said drily.

"No, no he didn't." I chewed my lip, mulling things over. Finally I asked, "You really had to beg Eric to come after me?"

She nodded.

"Thank you. I should've trusted you. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"I'm not sorry I called you a fool." One corner of her mouth twitched, and I relaxed, leaning against the porch railing.

"Gee, thanks. Is… Is everything okay with you, Pam?"

She pulled a face. "No. But it will be. Are you happy with the tiger?"

The abrupt segue caught me off-guard. "Yeah."

"Good. I'd hate to think you almost landed yourself in Bardulf's grasp for nothing." She nodded at the house. "Your latest guardian?"

"Uh-huh. Meredith. She's… okay."

"Fast reflexes. Brigant finally got something right."

I smiled weakly. "That why Thalia's here? You don't trust him?"

"Never trust a fairy."

"Deceitful and twisty, huh?" Like vampires, but I didn't say that. I'd hurt her enough. "I… I guess I'll see you next time I'm home?"

"Quinn should be welcome by the summer."

"Really? Thanks, Pam."

"Not my doing," she said, shrugging. "The tiger should be wary. Sophie-Anne was well-liked."

"Oh. Thanks for the warning."

She nodded. "Goodnight, Sookie."

Then she was gone, leaving me staring at an empty space.

…

I didn't sleep well that night.

What with the unsettling confrontation with Pam and the ill-fit of my old life, I wasn't sorry to leave Bon Temps the next day. The journey north was quiet. Meredith was still shaken; something told me she hadn't faced many angry vampires.

I was quiet too, thinking on friendships lost and strained. Blood _was _thicker, I guessed. All the shit between me and Jason over the years hadn't broken us. Tara, I'd expected that to fizzle out once I left. Regretted it, was pained by it, but expected it. Pam though, that was on me. I hadn't thought what I was asking of her, and I worried our tattered friendship was beyond fixing. And what she said...

I hadn't asked Niall how he knew I was in Memphis, and he hadn't exactly said. Too proud to admit Eric had clued him in, or too hurt? He was upset when I didn't tell him about Houston. Yes, wounded pride made a lot of sense. Niall wanted us to be family.

Hearing Eric was reluctant to come after me forced me to re-evaluate certain things.

Quinn and Amelia had been so certain Eric would retaliate. With our awful fight at Sanctum fresh in my mind, I'd been half-convinced of it myself. But Quinn was hardly unbiased where Eric was concerned. Nor was Amelia, recently snubbed by Eric's sheriff.

Neither was I.

The way I'd laid into Eric at Sanctum revealed a lot of unresolved anger. And now I was with Quinn I regretted letting Eric come between us the first time around. I'd projected all that onto Eric, painting him worse than he was. The background reading for my psychology course had sure been enlightening.

Tennessee's lies seemed so believable. Eric demanding my return, sending vampires after me… It was all a ruse to scare me into accepting Tennessee's 'protection'. The soda-can bomb all over again.

And maybe, a little voice whispered, my ego had wanted to believe Eric, in some twisted, possessive vampire way, still cared.

...

Memphis wasn't home sweet home, not yet, but getting back to Quinn's house felt good. Unless that was just the fairy magic. That was a sobering thought.

I picked Quinn up from the airport. Looking relaxed and well-fed, he said Tigerjin had called to thank us for the gifts we'd sent to Deiderik. I'd suggested dinosaurs – Deiderik was around Felix's age – and he'd loved them. Quinn was real pleased.

His mom was the happiest he'd seen her in years, too. She had a big birthday coming up. Him and Frannie were talking about throwing her a party here in Memphis, and I hoped that meant his mom was warming up to me. She wasn't thrilled we were back together. Strangely, Frannie was less critical once she found out I'd moved in. Thought it showed commitment or something.

We saw the New Year in at Marcie's. Twoeys sure knew how to party. Linden, the local packmaster, was polite but curt with me, and I could hardly blame him after Shawn's death. Tipsy and happy, we finished the evening with some fireworks in the bedroom. The next week settled into a pleasant rhythm: the store, yoga, cooking dinner, raking leaves. Then Quinn came home on Friday, projecting worry.

"Hey, babe. Dinner smells good."

"What's up?"

"No getting anything past the telepath, huh?" He smiled weakly. "Been offered a job. The Amun summit." _Knew the deaders couldn't freeze me out forever._

"Oh." That put a whole new slant on things; I assumed he'd been turning vamp clients down. Guess his reputation had taken a knock.

"It'll pay well." _Been waiting for this. Back in high cotton at last. _"Should be able to go easy for a few months."

"Yeah?" Figured that the vamps paid better. Had he been hurting without them, taking more pack jobs? I finished setting the table and looked up. "So, why the long face?"

"It's a big job. I didn't want to say yes until I spoke to you."

"Oh. Right," I said flatly. His face fell and I sighed internally. He _was _including me in the decision; I could meet him halfway. Putting on my best supportive face I asked, "How long will you be gone?"

"A couple of trips before hand, a week for the summit."

He wanted it, badly. I told him to go ahead.

…

Two days later I went to see Bertolini to discuss upcoming jobs.

When we walked in to his office, Quinn stopped dead, his confusion echoing mine. Bertolini was there, and so was Bardulf, sprawling arrogantly in a chair.

The third vampire was a complete surprise. Older and huskier than the average deader, his dirty brown hair was swept back from a high forehead, his chin was hidden by a grizzled beard and his eyes were small and guarded. He wouldn't have looked out of place dressed as a Civil War general.

I hadn't seen Kentucky since Rhodes.

Bertolini waved us to sit and slid a folder across the table. "Details of the spring assignments."

I took it wordlessly, waiting for an explanation.

"Kentucky wishes to put a proposal to you." Bertolini's face was as affable as ever, but I got the impression he was furious. "I explained you would not be interested, and you are under no obligation to agree."

There was some power play going on here. Bardulf's doing, I just knew it. The smug jerk grinned wolfishly, confirming it.

"Miss Stackhouse," he said, those baby blues giving me a cold once over. "Your work for the company has been exemplary. I mentioned you to Isaiah, and he asked me to facilitate this meeting."

It didn't take a genius to work out what Kentucky wanted. The Amun summit was in Louisville, he was hosting. I schooled my face to show polite disinterest. I didn't work for vampires, Bardulf knew that. Beside me Quinn glared daggers at him, his mind pulsing with annoyance.

Kentucky outlined the deal. When he got to the obscene amount of money he was offering, it got harder to keep my reaction hidden. His beady eyes flickered over my face. "Rhodes proved your worth and your loyalty to our kind, and you can't pay too much for security. Rhodes proved me right there."

Yes, it had. Back then, everyone wondered how he'd afforded Britlingens. His fortunes must've improved, the amount he was offering. Unless hosting a summit was really, really lucrative.

"Mr Gold," I began, glad I could remember his last name. I hated all that 'your majesty' stuff.

"Please. Call me Isaiah." He leaned back in his seat, waiting for me to take the bait.

"Isaiah. I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. I don't work for vampires."

He didn't seem shocked. "Pity. In that case," he glanced pointedly at Quinn, "my contract with Special Events will be less... valuable."

"What do you mean by that?" Quinn gritted out.

Bardulf cocked a cocky eyebrow. "He means you are window-dressing tiger. Cheap window-dressing."

Quinn was furious. _Babe_, he sent at me._ Kentucky didn't agree my fee. He's going to screw me over._

"We're not a package deal," I said, glaring at Bardulf. "No-one should have suggested we were."

"Forgive me," Bardulf said, smirking like he wasn't at all sorry. "I assumed you'd want to keep your tiger safe. Summits can be so… dangerous."

I didn't miss the threat. Unfortunately, while I could pick and choose jobs, Quinn could not. And he'd already signed on the dotted line. Just great.

"Why don't you look over the contract?" Kentucky pushed some papers towards me and waited expectantly for me to take them. "_You _will be perfectly safe in Kentucky, Ms Stackhouse. You have my personal protection."

Yes, I did. Even though he hadn't needed me to rescue him when the bombs went off. Clovache and Batanya took care of that. "Excuse my asking, but why is that again?"

He considered for a moment. "You were loyal to Sophie-Ann. I took an opportunity to reward that." He smiled then, showing fang. "And frustrating de Castro's plans for you was most enjoyable."

"Oh." Without those decrees, how vulnerable would I have been? Underneath his bluster about Felipe, I sensed that Sophie-Ann's fate truly upset Kentucky. Maybe that alliance he'd been after with her at Rhodes had a personal element after all.

Bardulf rocked his chair back and remarked casually, "Yes, pity about LeClerq. She would have recovered if not for Andre's death." His eyes flicked towards Quinn and my heart pounded as he added, "And other interference."

I willed myself calm, but the vamps must've heard my heart racing. Quinn looked relaxed, but he was throwing off waves of shock and anger too. Shit. They could probably smell that.

Scrambling to shut down any speculation, I picked up the contract and flicked through it, asking questions and feigning an interest, all under the weight of Bardulf's stare.

I desperately wanted to read his mind. Was his mention of Andre innocent or not?

…

The car was silent, ghosts of Rhodes hitching a ride in the back.

This was all my fault. Quinn ended Andre because I couldn't, not in cold blood. If Bardulf knew, he would use it against us, against Quinn. Finally I broke the heavy silence, asking quietly, "What if he knows, Quinn?"

"No-one saw. No-one knows."

Worrying guiltily at my lip, I didn't put him straight.

Barry knew. He'd picked it out of my head while we were searching the rubble, or afterwards when I was too exhausted to filter the awful memories. He wouldn't tell, though. Probably.

And Eric guessed something was off. The damn blood bond had given away my unease when he mentioned Andre. If Eric knew Quinn did the deed I figured all bets were off, but I was pretty sure he didn't.

"How much trouble are we in if Bardulf knows?" I asked.

"Let me worry about that." _Sophie-Anne's gone. No maker to claim revenge. Blackmail, maybe, if Bardulf has proof. Still after Sookie…_

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. We really shouldn't discuss this while he was driving. I waited until we were turning into the driveway to suggest, "Maybe I should come."

"No," Quinn said quickly. "We said just the twoey jobs, Sook." _Where I can protect you._

"What if there's trouble at the summit?"

"Any time that many deaders are in one place there's trouble." He scowled straight ahead, slamming the car into park, unease pouring off him. "It'll be fine."

"Quinn, don't lie to me. I can tell how worried you are."

"You're not going."' _Got to protect her._

"Why not?" I said sharply. "If Bardulf–"

"No." He got out, slamming the door. I did too, marching round the car to confront him.

"Don't tell me no, Quinn. I can help, listen in. Find out what he knows."

"I don't want you there." _Too dangerous. All Amun will be there._

"Oh hell. Eric. Is that it?"

"Northman isn't the only problem." He paced the drive angrily. "Too many fangers are interested in you, babe. I don't want you tangled up with them." _Fuckers can't have her._

"So it's all right you bein' in harm's way? Because you're the man?"

He grabbed my arms and growled, "No, you idiot, because I'm a fucking weretiger. This is my world, not yours."

I pulled out of his grasp. "Ever think I want to be part of your world? We're in this together, buster."

"No. No way. You're not coming. Don't even think about it." He stalked into the house.

Tossing and turning in my lonely bed that night, Rhodes haunted my sleep. Visions of Quinn, hurt and bloody in the ruins, pulling himself towards Andre.

If anything happened to Quinn because of what he'd done for me… I couldn't live with that on my conscience.

…

The next morning, Quinn wasn't budging. Stalemate.

I appealed to Meredith, usually so supportive of my decisions. She was absolutely horrified. "But Sookie, it's a vampire summit. Vampires. Hundreds of them."

"I know," I said, rolling my eyes. "I've been to one before."

"I can't hide my scent. I won't be able to protect you, even in the day."

"I'll be fine. Quinn will be with me," I lied. He'd be busy with the ceremonies, but it wasn't like she had a clue what went on at these things.

"Is it the money? I'm sure Niall would–" Seeing my face cloud, she tried a different tack. "I'll have to tell him."

"Go right ahead," I said defiantly.

Niall was equally aghast, but when he turned up on my afternoon off I wasn't inclined to listen to him either. After an hour of vigorous 'discussion', he was more agitated than I'd ever seen him. He threw Kentucky's contract down on the kitchen table and said angrily, "You will get yourself killed. Wilful, stubborn child!"

"Quinn is going, I'm going," I insisted. "I managed without your protection before."

"You had Northman protecting you in my stead."

"Funny how you trusted a vamp to do that, but now you act like they're all a bunch of savages waiting to tear me apart."

"If you go, you will be beyond my reach," he warned.

"So your protection is useless? Fine. I'll take my chances with my telepathy and my wits."

"It's a vampire summit. I have no authority there," he snapped. Breathing deeply, he pinched the bridge of his nose, a very human gesture. "My protection will go some way to keeping you safe, but I cannot offer more immediate, practical help if – no, _when_ something goes wrong. Sookie, be reasonable. Is the tiger worth putting your life on the line?"

"Yes! Niall, Quinn is important to me. If I stay here and something happens to him, I will never forgive myself."

He searched my face. "You are set on this course?"

"Yes."

"I will do what little I can," he said stiffly. "I am surprised the tiger is dragging you into this. I assumed he cared for you. But then, I never credited him with much intelligence."

I bit my tongue. That tiger had killed someone for me, and I owed him for that. And if I was making a life with Quinn, what better way to use my telepathy than keeping him safe.

…

Quinn foolishly thought he could order me to stay behind, but Stackhouses don't back down.

I'd made my choice, with eyes wide open. I knew what I was getting into this time. I took time off from the store, threw myself into researching the hotel in Louisville, and spent some time at the office helping Quinn prepare for the ceremonies. Turned out I was damn good at logistics and organisation too, seeing ways round problems that Bertolini and Quinn had missed, and impressing the pants off them.

Right before we were due to leave, Quinn called me into the den.

"The musicians for the ball again?" I asked, groaning.

He shook his head and took a box, a small red velvet box, out of his pocket. He put it on the coffee table and opened it. A diamond ring, a silver one.

I froze, staring at it. I had to swallow before I could speak. "Quinn, what's going on?"

"I haven't gone crazy," he said softly. "I know we're not there yet." He took a deep breath. "It's not how I imagined this happening, but … I'm just asking you to wear this in Louisville. For protection." _We'll get there for real soon enough._

His warm thought reassured me, but I was bubbling with questions. "Why now, Quinn?"

"A message to Bardulf, and all the other fangers who want a piece of you. Extra insurance."

"Is this about Eric?"

"No." he said. But it was, at least partly. I understood: Rhodes was haunting both of us.

"I'm with you," I reassured him. "I don't need a ring to remember that."

"I know. But you know how worried I am about you being there. Please, babe. For me."

"Guess I better get used to it." I took it from the box and slipped it on. It was cold and heavy, like my smile. This wasn't how I imagined it either.


	26. Louisville

Hi all, thanks for your comments. Firstly, I have a busy Easter planned, so I may be late with next week's update. I'll try my best.

Now, these chapters are shorter because I needed to swap POVs. But as you all like long chapters, today we'll get two - one of each!

Well, here goes. Summit time.

* * *

**Louisville**

* * *

A cheerful voice called down the hotel corridor, "Wait up, Sookie."

I turned round, key-card in hand, and smiled. "Diantha. What are you doing here?"

"You got a minute?" she asked catching up to me. She was wearing cherry red boots, orange and blue striped leggings and a sequinned green top under a denim jacket. Her hair, astonishingly for her, was plain black. Guess black went with anything.

"Sure, come on in," I said, waving her into our room. Quinn and I had arrived a full two days before the summit so I could scan as many of the staff as possible before the vamps arrived. Because that's how those suitcase bombs made it inside the Gizeh: the Fellowship infiltrated the staff. This time, if I came across any hotel workers I couldn't read I wouldn't ignore it, that was for damn sure.

"I'm here to watch yer back," Diantha said. "Can I look round yer room?"

"Oh, sure."

"Niall arranged it with Uncle," she called over her shoulder as she had a good nosy around, even ducking into the bathroom for a look-see. She came back out, pulling a letter out of her jacket. "And I gotta deliver this."

I put my purse down and reached out gingerly, eyeing the off-white envelope for signs it was made of something other than wood-pulp.

Diantha waved it encouragingly. "S'okay. Niall gave permission."

"Thanks." Taking it, I recognised Mr Cataliades' elegant copperplate with relief. As far as I knew demons didn't skin their enemies for paper, not that … Then I registered what she said. "He needed Niall's permission?"

"Yeah. Niall's kinda yer supe guardian, now you got no husband. Everyone's gotta go through him."

Oh, that buffer thing... Wait. Niall was screening my mail? First, what the hell? Second, nice of him to tell me. And why was Mr Cataliades writing to me?

"Isn't your uncle coming to the summit?" I asked, frowning at the envelope.

She shook her head. "He retired. From the vamp stuff anyway. Says he's getting old."

Shoot. I'd been looking forward to seeing him.

Diantha asked for my schedule. I gave her a rough idea of my itinerary, but the nature of the work meant things would be fluid so we exchanged cell phone numbers. She promised to stay in the background; she'd already cleared it with hotel security.

"Catch yer later," she called, waving cheerfully as she left.

I sat down on the couch. The envelope felt waxy, and heavier than it should. Magic, I guessed. I tore it open.

_..._

* * *

_Dearest God-daughter,_

_These words are spelled for your eyes only, for my protection as much as yours._

_I fear I have not fulfilled my promise to Fintan. By accepting Niall's protection you have drawn yourself further into our world, my dear, and it is my fault you are ill-equipped for it. I foolishly went along with your desire to play human these last few years, and thus failed to instruct you in our ways._

_ You are doubtless very fond of Niall, so it may be unpleasant to learn that Fintan had a stormy relationship with his father and did not trust him. Fintan did not want Niall in your life._

_ I do not claim to know Niall's intentions, and I believe he loves you in his way, but I suggest that you do not take him at face value. Niall is a complicated being, with many ties and responsibilities. Bear in mind that he may not always act in your interests._

_ I cannot b__e more specific in a letter, nor can __**I**__ initiate further contact._

_Be careful God-daughter,_

_ Desmond_

_ P.S. I am quite sure Eric Northman had no plans, as you obviously suspected when last we spoke, to claim you as an asset. He gave you his unconditional protection. Whilst vampires do, when it suits them, go back on their word, Northman does not do so without a compelling reason._

* * *

…

As I read the last word, the letter flared hot in my hand. Startled, I dropped the sheet of paper on the coffee table. Blowing on my fingertips, I watched as the ink flared a dull red before fading completely.

Mission Impossible, demon-style. Wow.

Okay, already. I got it. I'd been a prize bitch, misjudging Eric the way I had. He wasn't the villain of the piece here.

He wasn't the hero either.

I got the hidden message too: I could get in touch with Mr Cataliades but he couldn't contact me. I thought his radio silence for last six months meant he'd been relieved to hand the reins over to Niall, to be honest. That I'd been more of a duty than a friend, and he'd had no time for me in his busy schedule.

Now I felt guilty for thinking that, and irritated as all get out with Niall. What happened to not interfering in my life? We were getting on so well.

I don't know why I was disappointed. You think I'd be used to tight-lipped supes by now. It was like they all had some goddamn don't-ask-don't-tell code. Which was all very well if you had a clue what was going unsaid; it hadn't occurred to me to ask if Niall's 'protection' extended to screening my calls and mail.

Stupid supes, stupid rules. Well, I knew now.

I supposed I should be grateful Niall sent someone to keep me safe. Huh. I'd bet my bottom dollar Mr Cataliades made a bargain with Niall to allow that letter in exchange for loaning Diantha out, favours being the currency of most supe interactions.

I huffed out an exasperated breath, and looked at the clock. Quinn was checking out the function rooms and I had my first meeting with hotel security.

Ten minutes later I was checking my hair in the mirror. Satisfied I looked every inch the professional, I headed out. The hotel was gorgeous. Real stunning, a historic building. Human owned, somewhat unexpectedly, but a supe company owned by Kentucky was providing security for the summit, and I understood Kentucky was taking a fat slice of the profits from the bookings too.

In the elevator my mind wandered to my initial discussion with him.

"Once the summit begins," Kentucky had said, "I want you visible. A canary in a coal mine, singing prettily to prove the air is clean."

I'd held back a snort: he hadn't needed air, clean or otherwise, for centuries. And I couldn't sing. I reckoned he was just eager to show me off, let the other vamps know he had hired – for that read: could afford – a telepath.

"Mr Gold," I replied. "With all due respect, if folks recognise me they'll take precautions, be on their guard."

"Your presence will act as a deterrent."

I stuck to my guns. "I would be more use behind the scenes." And safer.

Kentucky's beady eyes shrunk further. He was displeased. "No, you must be seen."

I tried another tack. "Discovering the Rhodes bomb plot was pure luck. I'm a blunt tool to catch one person in a crowd. " Sure, I could scan a group, looking for an anxious or angry mind, but it was too tiring to do continuously. And the less Kentucky knew about how I operated, the better.

"You caught that were-bitch in Houston."

"Again, luck. I could easily miss something if I'm distracted, which is more likely if I'm out in the open."

"Miss Stackhouse, with all due respect to your talents, I have an excellent security team. You provide an extra layer, you are not essential."

Message: do as I ask, or you're fired.

We compromised in the end. The security team would know who I was, but I would work undercover, mingling with the unwitting hotel staff as anything from a waitress to an events planner like Quinn. In 'disguise' – a somewhat loose concept to vampires – basically I'd dress different. It might work, most folks saw the uniform not the person in it.

The head of security was waiting for me in the lobby.

Conrad Geiszler was a harried, skinny guy of medium height and years. His firm handshake came with a memory of Kentucky telling him, quite forcefully, to listen to me. Geiszler resented being told how to do his job.

Geiszler was a twoey, a werefox as it happened, so he knew what I could do. One less stumbling block, but I was also blonde and curvy, with no security training. He didn't think I'd add much to his team, but he did as Kentucky asked: introduced me to them, and showed me the security hub with its bank of monitors and plans of the hotel.

It wasn't until I asked some questions that he began to have any confidence in me. Did the close-circuit cameras have blind spots? Were the staff entrances as well-guarded as the public ones? Where did deliveries come in, were they checked? That kind of thing.

For my part, I was relieved that the loopholes from Rhodes had been closed. All luggage came in with its owner, or was thoroughly searched.

For his part, Geiszler was real impressed with me. That put a spring in my step, and I met my honey for lunch in a real cheerful mood.

The next eight hours were a gruelling whirl of faces and minds, but I cleared most of the staff. I found a few light-fingered waiters sneaking tips from their co-workers (boy, did I shop them fast, remembering when my tips kept the lights on at the farmhouse) and a chambermaid with a fetish for stealing underwear. Gross, but not a threat. If anyone had slipped by me, I was confident Geiszler was thorough enough to catch them. And his team was one hundred percent trustworthy. He had me check them first.

I was exhausted that night. Kentucky had bumped Quinn up to a nicer, bigger room when I'd agreed to come, and I slept like a baby on the king-sized bed, snuggled up against Quinn who was equally pooped. The next day was busy. Kentucky's hired donors arrived in the morning. Checking them was... an experience. They were all quite willing, I'll say that much.

Those travelling in coffins and breathing members of the delegations started to arrive that afternoon, so I was in the lobby acting as one of the facilitators when Quinn found me. A slim middle-aged woman hovered behind him, checking her blackberry. Her black pant suit matched her black hair and her black-framed glasses.

"Hey, babe. You got a minute?" Quinn asked, kissing my cheek.

"For you, sure."

He grinned. "Good to know, but it's not for me. This is Elaine Randall." _My contact at the Caucus. __She's important._ "She'd like a quick word."

"Oh, sure. Pleased to meet you, Ms Randall." I smiled and she shook my hand firmly, all business and thinking about a whole bunch of schedules, meetings and to-do lists. The feel of her mind reminded me of Sam. A true shifter, I reckoned.

"Call me Elaine," she said in a flat northern accent. "This won't take long, I know you're busy."

"Okay, babe? I've got to get back."

"Sure, I'll see you later." I gave Quinn a kiss goodbye, and heard Elaine mentally roll her eyes.

I found us a quiet corner of the lobby and we sat down. "How can I help you, Elaine?"

"I'm here with some colleagues from the Caucus, for a meeting with the more progressive monarchs in Amun. You know they want to work with us?"

"Sure." I nodded confidently. '_Caucus meeting, 9 __p.m. Adelphi Room_' was scrawled in green pen on a bulletin board in the security hub. That was as much as I knew, though.

"Good. What can you tell me about Eric Northman?"

I blinked. "Um…"

"I'm familiar with the others, but he's new. An unknown. Any pointers would be very helpful." She looked at me expectantly.

"I… I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask."

She smiled, firmly. "I do my homework, Miss Stackhouse. You were close to him."

"Not recently." I wondered if Quinn knew what she was going to ask. At a loss for what to say, I stalled her with a question. "What exactly is the meeting about?"

"A co-operation agreement. Something similar to the one that covers Zeus, but I doubt Amun will be so united. Northman spoke in favour of that."

He did? "I don't know anything about that, ma'am."

"Of course." _Oklahoma. Don't mention it. _"I want an insight into the vampire, not his politics. What's his personal attitude to twoeys?"

"He's …"

"Be frank, Miss Stackhouse. It's important."

"He's not real trusting of y'all."

She wasn't surprised, but she wasn't pleased either. "Not an uncommon attitude. Will his prejudice get in the way?"

"If a deal will benefit him, no. He's pragmatic."

"I hear he's a real hard-ass too. Ruthless."

"If he's betrayed, yes."

"Aren't they all?" _Hypocrites. Back-stab each other at the drop of a hat, but someone screws _them_ over and heads gotta roll._

"I guess." Mr Cataliades' letter at the back of my mind, I felt hadn't quite done Eric justice. So I added, "But if Eric gives his word, he keeps it."

She stared at me for a second, making sure I meant it. _High praise from an ex-wife. _"Thank you, Sookie."

Shaking my head, I went back to work. That had to be the strangest conversation so far today.

…

The closer it got to sunset, the more hectic it got. I managed to grab a bathroom break about five. Crossing the lobby on the way back to my post, someone called my name.

The werewolf from Tulsa. "Oh, hi. David…?"

"Jephson," he finished, smiling. "But David is just fine."

"Is anything I can help you with, David?"

"Nope, just saying hi. Spoke to Geiszler already. Guess you're here with Quinn."

"Uh-huh." I tried to recall the morning briefing. Nope, I'd remember if Oklahoma was mentioned. "I didn't know Isabel was coming."

"She's not, far as I know. I'm here with Louisiana."_ Head of his daytime security._

That, he sent straight at me. I didn't react; I had a great poker face. "Oh?"

He cocked his head. "No love lost for the ex, huh?"

Maybe not such a great poker face. I wasn't pleased. "You know about that."

"Gotta know the boss's business," he said shrugging. And then he thought of a standing on a lawn in front of a mansion, its fancy entrance lit by soft pre-dawn light as Eric stepped outside, dripping blood and gore, eyes feral and fangs down.

I flinched slightly, before I could stop myself.

"Rumour's true then," he said, faded eyes shrewd. "You can read twoeys like an open book."

"Can if you aim it right at me," I said, exasperated with him and myself. "You were testing me."

"Yes, ma'am. Just doing my job. You understand?"

"Yeah, I guess." He did feel a little sorry about it.

A Middle-Eastern looking man came over from the desk to join us. Demon, from the buzz of his mind, but he was tall and slim, not round and padded like Mr Cataliades. He had mid-length dark hair and a neat goatee. Quite handsome, in his well-fitting dark jeans and a snug chocolate-brown sweater. I reckoned he was Mr C's replacement, and all at once I missed his friendly face.

The replacement smiled politely at me, and said something quiet to Jephson, who nodded and said, "This is Sookie Stackhouse. Sookie, meet Eric's lawyer, Sebastian Mithradates."

"Pleased to met you," he said, bright hazel eyes scrutinising me from underneath his dark eyebrows.

"You too," I said with less warmth. He didn't offer to shake hands, and I wondered if he was a telepath too, or just knew that touch enhanced it.

"Well, we'd best get along," said Jephson. "See you around, Miss Stackhouse."

I watched them leave, feeling uneasy.

Eric wasn't here yet but he was already casting a long shadow over my day.

…

It had been a while since I'd been in a large gathering of vamps and I got a little edgy as sunset approached. But my nerves didn't last.

Soon I was about ready to stake Minnesota.

Maude was the most annoying queen I'd ever met, a real diva. She was small and delicate, with shoulder-length dark hair, and big dark eyes. And French – or so I assumed. It was certainly her language of choice for cussing. Which she did plenty of when she heard Red Rita checking in. Maude was insulted: her rooms were on the eighth floor, one higher than Red Rita and thus further from the action.

No-one was going to swap with her, the place was fully booked. As I'd told her three times, but she was still pitching a hissy fit. Her demands were relentless. First, her rooms weren't spacious enough, then that they were too near the elevators. Then it was the towels, the sheets, the wifi access. You name it, it wasn't to her exacting standards.

How on earth had Pam put up with her? I wished Pam were here instead, a healthy dose of her dry humour was just what I needed.

Thinking of the child must have summoned the maker: that was when I ran straight into Eric, literally.

Eric, larger than life and looking as gorgeous as Eric always looked.

Thankfully he didn't stay in the lobby to quibble over the thread count of his sheets like Maude. It was difficult enough concentrating on all minds coming and going without Eric around.

…

Kentucky made a speech at the opening ceremony. Quinn was up on the stage with him, looking rather delicious in a navy suit. I was in a waitress uniform, serving drinks. Like old times.

Except Merlotte's never served champagne with a strawberry. Or fancy blood cocktails.

Kentucky was going all out to impress his peers. Trying too hard, I reckoned, looking round the room. This crowd would see right through him. No-one looked poor, that was for damn sure: more designer gowns than the Oscars. Vamps and their pride.

The ballroom was sumptuous. Light from the chandeliers glittered off the gilt on the moulding, and shone in the mirrors. Each of the fourteen states in Amun had a designated table – dressed in crisp deep red linen, guess somebody anticipated bloodstains – and I didn't envy whoever made the seating plan.

Wouldn't do to snub anyone in this crowd.

While Kentucky preached profits and prosperity, I circled the edge of the room, reading the wait staff and the humans the vamps had brought. Not that I wasn't watching the vamps too. Sure, Kentucky had hired me primarily for human threats, but the kings and queens I was supposedly protecting were a far more likely source of trouble to my mind.

That's why I'd done my research before I arrived.

I had Quinn give me a run-down of the changes since Rhodes: Ohio, who'd been killed in the bombing, had been replaced by one of his former sheriffs. Missouri survived, barely, and his child had taken over for a couple years while he recovered, which he'd done physically, but politically – not so much. After that mysterious trial in Dallas, Alabama had a new queen, Zola, and Red Rita was queen of Arkansas in her own right, not as Felipe's lackey. I reckoned Eric had something to do with that, but tactfully I hadn't asked Quinn anything about him.

That was all Quinn knew. He'd been out of the undead loop a while, and work rarely took him to the northern states.

So, before we left Memphis, I'd collared Bertolini at the office one night and asked him. He'd commended my initiative, and said he'd planned to let me know the lay of the land. Mind you, he hadn't been in America long, so he didn't know all the history and machinations behind the current situation, but he'd known more than Quinn.

First off, he told me Illinois had been king as long as Russell, a full century. Illinois was a big hitter economically, along with his neighbours: Iowa, Ohio, and Bartlett in Indiana.

Guess that explained why they were all seated up front tonight, near the stage.

But Bertolini hadn't stuck to economics. Gesticulating and slipping into his affable uncle persona, the Italian vamp had relished dishing the dirt on the fangs behind the fancy suits and designer dresses.

For instance, Maude of Minnesota, whose table I was approaching.

Her marriage to Wisconsin had barely five years to run and she was already shopping for a new husband – that was the driving force behind a running spat between Wisconsin and Michigan. Having the larger state, Michigan had more clout, and rumour had it Maude was tempted to switch her allegiance to him. I reckoned that explained the occasion in Rhodes when I saw Wisconsin with his arm round Maude. A strangely human gesture, given vamps didn't usually touch. He'd been staking his claim.

I had, eventually, made sense of Maude's Oscar-worthy performance in the lobby. She'd hung around making a scene until both kings arrived. The rivals for her affections fell over themselves to 'rescue' her from the horrors of an inadequate supply of towels. There wasn't much to choose between the two kings in looks, or sense, if you asked me.

Maude was still courting drama now I noticed, playing the two suitors off each other: Wisconsin was watching her as she looked lingeringly over at Michigan.

Vamps and their games.

While Bertolini was in an expansive mood, I had slipped in a question about Isabel getting Oklahoma. Apparently, Stan and Russell, and consequently Bartlett too, had a hand in removing Freyda. Permanently. Bertolini had intimated Isabel's coronation was a surprise. If Texas was going to promote anyone it should have been his loyal second Joseph, who'd nursed the state while Stan recovered from Rhodes. But Joseph had disappeared, Bertolini didn't know why or how, and Stan had been tight-lipped about it. I figured Joseph was finally dead.

For vampires true death often came swift and secret.

Bertolini had hinted that what went down in Oklahoma was a big deal, that Alabama (the previous one) was mixed up in it, and the new king of Louisiana. He'd wait for me to ask more, but I hadn't, figuring I knew enough to join the dots. I didn't need details, and I certainly didn't want to know Eric's part in it.

Or for Quinn to get wind I'd been asking after him either. He was antsy enough about me being here, and I wouldn't put it past Bertolini to let that one drop – he liked gossiping a little too much.

I knew seeing Eric was unavoidable, but I planned to stay out of his way for Quinn's sake. No point in stirring up trouble where there was none. Which was why I was working the left side of the room. Eric was over on the right, in a suit, looking positively GQ cover-worthy.

I examined the rest of Louisiana group, discreetly. Neb was there, and four other vamps besides Eric. A short Asian guy in a suit, long hair tied back, Japanese maybe. I didn't know the next two either – a swarthy male, tall and thin; a dark-haired woman – but I recognised the last: medium height, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and much more handsome than Amelia's mental image.

Oskar Ashwyn, lately of New York, now Sheriff of New Orleans.

I guessed Bill was out of favour, I'd half expected to see him and found myself surprisingly indifferent to his absence. David Jephson was nowhere to be seen either, but I'd spotted Eric's lawyer earlier, downstairs in the bar. With the other lawyers, having their own opening ceremony with whisky and a lot of dry lawyer talk.

Russell Edgington smiled at me as I neared the Mississippi table. I was mildly astonished to see a woman amongst Russell's pretty boys, but I supposed she fitted in, aesthetically speaking. She was very striking, slim and graceful, with ebony skin and close-cropped hair. Easy on the eye. She refused the champagne I offered. She was bored, thinking about the steak dinner she'd had and how it would do her more good than iron tablets.

Donor. Gotcha.

Tennessee's table was next. As I approached it I caught Quinn's eye, up on the stage, and gave him a reassuring smile.

Bardulf was wearing a perfectly tailored tux. On his left was a lady vamp wearing a soft charcoal grey dress that reached the floor. She had long black hair, paled olive skin, striking brown eyes and one of those symmetrical faces with lovely arched eyebrows. In short, she was beautiful. Tennessee's hard-faced sidekick Clarabel sat on his right, in a poorly chosen coral dress that didn't flatter her boyish figure. Two male vamps, pretty enough to earn a seat at Russell's table, sat next to her, and two human women, equally lovely, made up the table.

I stayed near them as long as I could, but I didn't pick up anything useful, even though one of the humans seemed to be Bardulf's assistant rather than a donor. Damn. I really needed to find out Bardulf's game plan.

I caught Quinn's eye again and shook my head slightly. He kept his face open and serious, but sent me a swell of frustration and gratitude. Sighing internally, I moved on.

Alabama's table was towards the back of the room, like Eric's. I guessed that meant they hadn't earned their place yet. I was surprised to see Thalia sitting with the new queen. Thalia, of course, ignored me. The queen herself was African, full figured and watchful. Serious. I would be too, in her shoes. Quinn said Zola was a clan outsider, from Moshup. I wondered if she'd last any longer than Felipe.

Diantha was hanging around in the service corridor when I ducked out there to refill my tray. She was dressed, inconspicuously for her, in a dark pant suit. I realised that was why her hair was black too, so she would blend in.

"You see Thalia in there?" I asked quietly. "What's she doing with Alabama?"

Diantha shrugged. "Heard she had a falling out with Pam a while back, left Louisiana."

"Can't have. She was in Bon Temps over the holidays."

"Yeah?" She bared sharp little teeth. "Thalia's always been a law unto herself."

Well, that was a mystery, like I needed another one to solve. I went back into the ballroom and found the speech was done. Folks were getting up, beginning to move around.


	27. Opening Moves

And here's the second of today's chapters.

* * *

** Opening Moves**

* * *

Once Oskar finished checking us in, the Louisiana party left the lobby. Jephson and Oskar escorted the luggage, Goro and Neb escorted me.

In the elevator I could feel Neb's eyes on me, but I didn't look up from my phone. I was replaying my brief exchange with Sookie, and cursing myself for a fool. Had I capitalized on her unexpected and very welcome gratitude? No. I saw the tiger's ring on her hand and reacted to that.

Insulting her pride was not going to win me any favours. The way her eyes flashed though...

I was smirking when we arrived on the fifth floor.

The hotel had a small light-tight wing to the rear. Self-contained with its own key-activated elevator, and rooms with reinforced walls and doors. Bombproof, the hotel claimed. Very secure, but not where we were, sadly. I was last in line and those rooms went long before I became king. Vampires, as with all things, planned ahead for summits. Rumour had it that Illinois and several other monarchs had booked whole floors of that wing – more square-footage than we had, for a fuck of a lot more dollars.

Of course, Felipe had cancelled his booking rather than transfer it to me. I imagined losing his deposit stung like a bitch, a thought that pleased me until I found out someone had snapped up the cancellation before I could.

At least I was saving money, stuck in the main wing. Here, only about half the rooms were light-tight, mostly the ones that didn't face the street. They were minimally adapted – reinforced doors with coded locks, windows with internal steel shutters – a compromise between our safety and preserving the building's character.

The elevators and main staircase were situated in the corner of the L-shaped wing. By paying a little extra I had wangled the last of the larger suites, with four bedrooms and a lounge, at the end of the longer corridor. So no through traffic.

A little safer than rooms on the shorter corridor, which ended in a quieter back staircase – perfect for someone sneaking between floors. But still not as secure as the light-tight wing.

That was why we brought are own day guards.

Jephson and his team were in three adjacent rooms on the 'sunny side' of the corridor. The other vampires who made up our party – two guards from Baton Rouge here as extra muscle – were bunking with them in steel coffins.

The perils of being at the bottom of the food chain: rising to the smell of wolf.

I gave the suite a cursory once over, and found it acceptable. Oskar, Neb and I took a room each, and Goro shared the last with Salvatore. I unpacked at vampire speed and came out into the lounge to find Goro had let some of Poppy's toys loose.

Bug-eaters, the witch called them. Fascinated, I watched them search the place. They skittered over the walls and furniture in a search pattern, looking very much like strange metallic spiders. Efficient spiders. Five minutes later, the last returned to the desk, spitting out a tiny electronic bug. The Bug-eater folded its legs underneath its metallic body and hunkered down, going dormant like its brothers. Goro swept the pile of listening devices into his palm and took them into his room.

Jephson, who had been watching too, shook his head. "Those things give me the creeps."

"Scared of spiders, wolf?" Oskar sneered, coming out of his room.

"No. Scared of unnatural witch shit."

I chuckled. "You'll be wearing it round your neck tomorrow."

He huffed. "It better work."

Apparently the wolf did not like the idea of Sookie rooting around in his tiny mind.

Neither did Goro, not when the wolves were responsible for us during the day, and he had already called Pam. Five of Poppy's necklaces were being expressed overnight for Jephson's team. None of us had expected to find a telepath here, much less Sookie.

I certainly hadn't been prepared to run into her.

Focus, I told myself. Later.

I was hitting the ground running tonight: two important meetings and the opening ceremony. The shapeshifters from the Caucus were first, early so we didn't keep them up past their bedtimes. Neb had volunteered to come along when Oskar was less than enthusiastic. He did so hate the smell of wet fur.

Quinn was waiting in the corridor downstairs. Marvellous.

"Your majesty." The tiger's lips puckered as he said it.

Good. I hoped my title choked him. I gestured for him to continue, expecting some nonsense about my accession ceremony.

"I need a word. In private." He indicated a nearby bathroom.

Neb and I exchanged looks: mine irritated, his wary. Neb checked the stalls then stationed himself outside. I leaned against the sinks and gestured impatiently for the tiger to get on with it.

"Stay away from Sookie," Quinn said, glowering. "She's mine, she's happy, and she's wearing my ring."

I regarded him coolly, noting his defiant stance. "You seemed threatened, tiger. Why is that?"

He growled, a low challenging rumble. "I'm not the shifter. One fucking whiff of your blood anywhere near her and I'll cry foul to Brigant. Stay away from her."

I smirked at him. "Better keep her safe then. I only give Sookie blood when she needs it."

If 'need' was interpreted very, very loosely. Like I gave a fuck about being honest with the kitty.

I blurred out of the room, leaving him posturing at thin air. Neb stepped into place beside me, and I put thoughts of wringing the tiger's neck aside as we entered the meeting room.

The delegation from the Caucus was waiting, as was Mithradates and a few other lawyers. I counted six monarchs, including me. Not a great turn out. Disappointing, in fact. I noted Illinois had sent an underling, not his second, boding ill for support from that quarter.

Bartlett was there though, and I was pleased to see Iowa. Minnesota was a given – the Great Lakes region had a large two-natured population and Maude would do well out of a deal, given her own subjects were thinner on the ground. The same went for Michigan, although I suspected he was here mainly to impress Maude. Kentucky, obliged to attend as host, seemed lukewarm.

I outlined the arrangements Stan had been instrumental in setting up in Zeus. Bartlett and Iowa both spoke in support. The Caucus reps listened attentively. They were interested, especially the brisk, matter-of-fact shifter from Detroit, Elaine Randall. She asked some pointed questions, and Mithradates clarified a few legal matters, as did Bartlett's lawyer.

Ms Randall was helpfully forthright about potential roadblocks. Ohio was a sticking point for them: he had alienated the packs in his state early in his rule, perhaps taking Jake Purifoy's betrayal to heart after his predecessor's final death. Wisconsin was a bigger problem; he had a long running feud with several of his local packs. The Caucus reps also had doubts about Tennessee and Missouri. And they were wary of Alabama, simply because she was new. I assumed my track record in Oklahoma stood for something with them.

We agreed some minimum requirements on both sides: justice for vampire crimes against their kind, and vice versa; mutual support in the face of physical attacks. Bartlett and Iowa thought we could get whole clan agreement on at least that much. Sharing information and joint action on fundamentalists, public relations, and government initiatives were wish-list items. If we couldn't get unanimous agreement on those, the Caucus would support state-by-state arrangements. That was the best we could hope for with Amun as discordant as it was.

When the meeting broke up, Maude gave Michigan an enigmatic smile and turned to me.

"Eric, walk with me?"

I nodded and fell into step beside her. Neb and her lieutenant followed a few paces behind.

"How is Pamela?" she asked, loud enough for Michigan to hear.

"Well."

She smiled. "So I hear. She was a good sheriff under de Castro. She is outstanding under you."

I allowed myself a small smile. "She is."

Once we were out of earshot I asked, "Using me to spur Michigan on?"

She gave me a genuine smile. "Of course."

"Will he support the initiative with the Caucus?"

"Yes. He is sensible, on this at least. But others..."

"Ah. Your husband, Wisconsin."

She grimaced, and lowered her voice. "Is a stubborn fool, ruled by the past. We need this. The wolves out-number us all in the north. He is blind to our vulnerability."

"You hope to encourage him through his rivalry with Michigan." Maude had always been shrewd beneath her damsel-in-distress act.

"Exactement." We were coming to the lobby. "Congratulations on your throne, Eric. I will look forward to future summits now. You are so much prettier than Felipe."

Winking, she glided away before I could reply.

…

As the newest regime we were seated towards the back of the ballroom for the opening. Sadly, Kentucky was still audible.

I was more interested in the audience than his speech. Yasmin had wormed her way to a seat at Bardulf's right hand. Promising. Across the room, Russell seemed relaxed. Bartlett was further away, at the front. Alabama was sitting nearby, and when our eyes met I nodded to her. Zola was as green as I was at this, and I wasn't averse to some mutual assistance. Especially as I was in a position of relative strength: my allies were here, hers weren't. Virginia, her blood sibling, and Georgia were in Moshup.

It was no shock to see Thalia sitting at Zola's table. Sookie was here. Hiding in plain sight wasn't Thalia's usual tactic, but the summit didn't leave her many options. I was speculating what cover story Thalia had used with Zola when my cell vibrated in my pocket. I slid it out surreptitiously, pleased to have a diversion.

A text from Rory: **How is it?**

**Dull as the dead, **I sent back, typing one-handed under the table.

**: ) Sebastian told me Sookie is there.**

Straight to the point. I debated my reply for a moment, staring at the stage as if I was actually listening to Kentucky's drone.

**Yes. In this very ballroom. **As I was all too aware.

She replied with: **Want an excuse to speak to her? **

I debated that for longer. The tiger's posturing, the way Sookie hadn't met my eyes earlier after I congratulated her... I was too curious for my own damn good.

**Perhaps, **I sent after a pause.

Rory sent me the excuse, leaving it up to me whether to use it.

When Kentucky finally shut up, I banished thoughts of Sookie and concentrated on watching everyone's opening moves. Red Rita's eyes went straight to Missouri, who ignored her. They had a dispute to settle. Ohio, who was still wet behind the ears, glanced at Kentucky. Interesting. Wisconsin was glaring at his ball and chain, but Maude was cutting him dead. I smiled internally at the pun.

Smiling for real was out. I did my duty and got up to mingle, Goro and Salvatore shadowing me silently, Neb never far away. Oskar was off doing some mingling on his own and I envied him his freedom.

Missouri button-holed me first, welcoming me to the Amun fold and waffling on about mutual interests without actually saying anything. Except for a veiled comment about my speedy recovery the previous year. His slow healing after Rhodes had cost him, but if he was bitter he hid it well.

His star was falling and I knew what he wanted: allies. I had that covered. No need to tie myself to the weakest link. I made a polite excuse and moved on.

I schmoozed my way towards the front, where the big players were, careful to avoid Tennessee – Yasmin was on his arm, and I didn't want a confrontation to jeopardize her cover. I was a dozen feet from the stage when Quinn made a show of jumping down from it. He walked past with a sneer on his face. I ignored him. He was heading towards Sookie and I had no desire to see them together.

Illinois indicated he wanted a word with a nod of his head. I could hardly refuse: I was the new boy and he had ruled for as long as Russell. We had a short exchange, mostly pleasantries but he mentioned my investments in Oklahoma. Genuine interest? Doubtful. Feeling out my ties to Isabel, and thus Stan? Definitely.

It was gratifying that our cabal was attracting his interest, even if he considered us a threat to be broken up. The idea he was sounding me out as the weakest of the group was less flattering. Illinois was suspicious by nature and didn't suffer fools. It paid to stay on his good side, so I was charming.

Ohio came to feel me out next. He was an arrogant prick. He hadn't earned the respect he seemed to think he deserved from me: he'd barely been king four years, and he was only seven centuries old. Irritating, but again it paid to play nice as his state was rich and populous.

Equally irritating was hearing my name and Quinn's repeated around me in the crowd and having to ignore it. Fuck, I hated politics.

Bartlett came to join us, making the murmurs easier to ignore. Ohio, who was Dutch originally, prattled on about his brilliant investments in alternative energy. Something about wind farms.

"Interesting," Bartlett said when Ohio ran out of steam. The glint in Bartlett's eye heralded mischief. "Perhaps your enthusiasm harks back to the windmills of your homeland. What next, Ohio, tulip farming?"

Ohio wasn't impressed. No sense of humour. "Your wit is beneath a king, Indiana. Besides, you too are investing in alternative energy sources."

He stalked off towards Kentucky and Bartlett chuckled. "Ah, but I don't bore everybody stiff as death with it. Honestly, Eric, did you not find him a touch evangelical?"

I smirked. "Recent converts are always the worst."

Neb appeared besides me. "Ohio?"

"He makes tilting at windmills worth it," Bartlett deadpanned. "I see you waited for him to leave before you joined us, Neb."

Neb smiled. "I have seen enough bandwagons and idiots riding them."

"Haven't we all?" I said. Part of my attention was on Tennessee, who had just joined Kentucky and Ohio. Bartlett followed my look and a slight frown flitted across his forehead.

Neb said, "I hear the Europeans are most interest in green energy."

"Yes," Bartlett answered, and they began chatting about mutual acquaintances. Commenting where I could, I watched them interact, but saw nothing untoward. My instincts said Neb was not working for Bartlett. In fact, I got the sense that Bartlett deferred to him, if anything.

I took note when Bartlett mentioned Teresa's maker, who was going by the name Donatello these nights, but we weren't here to socialise and Bartlett soon excused himself. Deciding I'd had enough manoeuvring for now, Neb and I began moving back towards our table. Several vampires stopped us to congratulate us on our new positions, with varying degrees of sincerity.

And then we ran into Tennessee. With his second, Clarabel.

"Northman. Sheriff," Bardulf greeted. "Enjoying the summit so far?"

"It is bigger than the last one I attended," Neb said, sparing me from giving an answer.

"Oh, yes. The hotel is full. I hear Maude was unhappy with her rooms. Mine are grand, I must say." He paused, a smirk beginning to curl his lips. "I have a floor to myself. In the rear wing. And yours?"

"They are sufficient," I said coolly. Bastard. He was the one who snapped up Felipe's cancellation, I'd bet my right fang on it.

"Yes, Kentucky has done us proud this year. Securing the telepath, too. A feather in his cap."

"Oh, but that was your doing," Clarabel pipped up. "Without your influence, she would never have agreed."

"Oh, one doesn't like to boast," he said, smirking fully at me. "Duty calls. Excuse us."

Outwardly, I was unmoved. Internally I was repeating Sookie's words: _I am no-one's asset._ And telling myself Niall would never let Bardulf get his hands on her.

If she gave Niall a chance to protect her, that is. And it sounded like she was here against his wishes.

Stubborn, foolish woman.

Out of my hands. Nothing I could do.

Oskar was waiting at the Louisiana table. He'd been making the rounds, chatting to various council members. I saw him with Iowa earlier, who held her state's seat. Unusual to hold both roles, but she was well-respected.

"Are you as weary of this as I am?" he asked as I joined him.

"Ready to poke my eyes out with a silver fork," I said quietly.

Various vampires came over to pay their respects. After a while, I announced I needed to speak to Russell. The timing was nothing to do with Sookie, who was picking her way through the crowd in that direction.

Neb glanced towards the Mississippi table. "He's free now."

"No time like the present," I said, getting up. Signalling Goro to follow me, I made my way over, stopping a few times to speak to sheriffs I knew. It paid to be pleasant to the little people too. More politics.

Russell greeted me with a wide smile. He and I did have business: the Deepwater oil spill. Going by past experience, we both knew the damage would take years to fix. It wasn't just the fisheries. The clean-up efforts were distorting the local economies, as would the inevitable compensation schemes. And the law suits against the oil company would have knock-on effects for the whole industry. Those Oklahoma refineries I had invested in, for instance.

Russell was looking to the future, betting on oil-eating bacteria that could mop up spills, something Bartlett had the capability to push for with his investments in biotechnology. Long term – and any vampire worth his fangs planned long term – we all knew oil was on the way out.

Half-listening, I used our conversation to watch Sookie covertly, debating whether it was wise to speak to her as she drew closer. She was only feet away when Russell and I wound things up.

Here was my chance.

There was no way I could pass it up. Curiosity was too strong mistress.


	28. Kings and Queens

Here's the first of today's chapters.

* * *

**Kings and Queens**

* * *

I weaved through the throng in the ballroom handing out drinks and taking in snatches of mental chatter. It wasn't much fun: the thoughts around me were bored, or bitchy, or imagining… Yeah, way too many images of how the donors mingling with the crowd wished to be bitten for me.

Quinn came over to say hi, resting his hand on the small of my back. I felt his need to... put his scent me. It was a twoey thing. He was unsettled and I leaned into him, smiling to reassure him. I could tell he wanted more, a kiss perhaps, but I reckoned that would be a little unprofessional. I patted his arm and said quietly, "Later, honey. I'm working."

He smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I know. You holding up?"

"Doing just fine."

_No luck with Bardulf?_

I gave him a brighter smile, shaking my head slightly.

_Don't worry, he can't prove a thing. _He squeezed my hand, and I caught something he didn't mean me to hear: _If it comes to it, I'll take the fall for Andre. Keep her out of it._

I watched him walk away, praying it wouldn't come to that.

Sighing, I got back to scanning the crowd. The humans who were more than just fang-candy, the long-term 'companions' and various employees, they made for more interesting listening. One of the Missouri sheriffs had a particularly loud broadcaster with her, a muscle-bound guy who hated the suit he was wearing. He was watching Eric, who was talking with Bartlett Crowe.

_Still as thick as thieves. Must tell Jacob._

Jacob was a vampire from Kansas, over in Zeus. Mr Muscles was spying. None of my business as long as he wasn't about to assassinate anyone. Vamps could spy on each other to their hearts content; it's what they did.

_Hmm. The big blond turned his fortunes around quick. Didn't stay a lapdog for long._

I had to steady my tray. I didn't expect to see Freyda in his head, but there she was, in a beautiful red gown.

I thought about pulling back. Really I did, but I was curious about that lapdog comment. And Freyda, if I was honest. I got a whole series of images of her and Eric at some fancy hotel. Eric standing behind her, a silent shadow while she sat at a table. Eric at her elbow in a ballroom, with other vamps. Stan was there; a Zeus summit I guessed.

Eric looked more like a bodyguard than a husband.

I didn't know what to feel about that. Sadness, mostly. It was one thing to hear Eric had no power, another to see it.

I moved away, rubbing my temple. Geez, that guy broadcast louder than Amelia. Casting my mental net wide to scan a section of the crowd was hell on my concentration, even with vamps in the majority. I had already warned Geiszler I would need to pace myself. Pulling my shields tight, I took a break and watched the room.

What I saw was amusing. I was witnessing an honest-to-God marriage market.

Out of the fourteen states in Amun, only four had queens. They were holding court at their tables, the kings buzzing round them like bees round lilac. Well, except for Red Rita. Guess Arkansas was still a poor state no-one wanted. Alabama, newly appointed, was single. Minnesota would be up for grabs soon. Iowa, the fourth, was pale even for a vamp, with long raven black hair and a willowy figure. Widowed at Rhodes by the former Ohio's death, Bertolini had said she was an old hand, having been queen for forty odd years.

All three were attracting suitors. It was like watching lions mating on the Serengeti.

I kept track over the next hour. Illinois and Ohio both paid Iowa a lengthy visit. Illinois was a short, dapper vampire in an immaculate tux. He wasn't conventionally handsome at all, with a bulbous nose and a scowl, but he radiated masculinity and power. Ohio was tall and slim, with a gorgeous mop of blonde hair, a rugged jaw line and a ready smile I didn't trust, despite his good looks. Iowa received them both cordially, far as I could tell. Bartlett stopped at her table too, but that must have been politics. He was all set, marriage-wise.

Illinois must think he was hot stuff, because he also spent a spell at Alabama's table. So did Tennessee, and Kentucky. But Kentucky went to all the queens, so maybe he was just being a considerate host.

Missouri paid Iowa a visit too, but he was dismissed faster than I reckoned seemly. He went to pay his respects to Minnesota instead, but didn't get much of a look in there either. Michigan was hogging her, and Wisconsin wasn't hiding how pissed he was about him monopolising his wife.

I was passing by the Mississippi table on the way to refill my tray when Eric, who had obviously just finished talking to Russell, beckoned me over with two fingers.

Shit. I hadn't noticed him coming over to this side of the room. I plastered on a smile and tried to look like I was completely at ease as I went over.

"I have a message for you," he said, fishing a fancy phone out of his jacket and tapping the screen quicker than I could follow.

"From Pam?" I asked, hopeful. I set my empty tray down on the table.

"No. Rory."

He held the phone out, but I didn't take it, much less enthusiastic now I knew it was from. "What does it say? I'm busy."

He shrugged, looking faintly amused. "I didn't read it."

"Fine." I took the phone, aware of the many unblinking eyes around us. Quinn's especially, he was a few tables over, talking to Kentucky. "How do I..."

"Tap there." Eric moved closer and pointed, and as I went to touch the screen our fingers brushed.

Not accidentally.

Jerking the phone away, I glared up at him. He was crowding me and I was expecting the infuriating smirk that greeted me, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes.

Which were looking down at the phone, the phone I was cradling to me. In my left hand.

I felt a slow flush beginning, rising up my throat. Stepping back sharply to put some distance between us, I snapped my eyes down to the screen, willing the heat away. It wasn't that I was ashamed of the pretence – okay, maybe I was, a little – it was just that with Eric around I was wishing that ring meant more than it did for all the wrong reasons.

Especially when he was passing messages along from his … whatever Rory was to him.

The message was quite long.

**Sookie, remember our philosophical musings on your porch steps? I can finally answer your question. :)**

Lord, smileys. Was she five hundred or fifteen? I couldn't imagine what made her so sure I cared about a conversation from last year that I barely remembered.

**I was privileged to witness a turning recently. All very hush-hush and I can't name names.**

Of course. Vampires were big on privacy when it was theirs.

**The 'aura' dims greatly during the process but never disappears. On rising, it had not altered as much as I expected. That should clarify the matter, I hope. Any other philosophical queries, let me know. ;) RK**

Gee whiz, my life was complete. I rolled my eyes and handed the phone back to Eric, who glanced at it curiously.

"Philosophy. Impressive," he said. "You always did have hidden depths. So, you had a burning desire to find out if vampires retain their human essence. Worried about the state of our souls?" He was smirking again.

"Don't flatter yourself," I scoffed. "Whatever the heck she sees, animals have them too. It ain't a soul."

His eyes went distant, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and deep.

"My people hunted with hounds. The dogs I kept were cunning, intelligent. Sentient, even. Who is to say they did not have souls?" His eyes focused on the present again, and he raised an eyebrow. "I am surprised you are dismissive of the notion, given your current… companion." He nodded towards Quinn.

I looked over and groaned internally. Quinn was watching us intently, ignoring Kentucky. Sometimes I wished he was more like a vampire, better at hiding his feelings.

"That's enough chitchat, Eric. I'm working here," I said, grabbing my tray.

Russell came up as I was turning away, and I heard him murmur, "A worthy riposte, Eric." These guys were just poster-children for interspecies harmony and understanding, weren't they? And I did mean children.

Walking quickly away, I saw Neb and the New Orleans sheriff coming towards me. Oskar walked straight past, but Neb stopped and nodded.

I bobbed my head. "Sheriff."

"Neb, please." His eyes crinkled. "Kentucky has been boasting about you."

"Has he now," I said warily.

"Yes. It is a great prize, you working for us again. Isaiah is crowing."

"Well, he shouldn't be," I said. "This is a one-off. I have no intention of working for y'all again."

He nodded. "You prefer shape-changers. As employers and bedmates."

I stiffened. "If you're about to tell me they're all scum, save your breath."

"I have not needed to save breath for a long time," he said, smiling briefly. He glanced past me, towards Eric and Russell. "Not all of us think poorly of the whole species. Those that do, have their reasons."

I mumbled, "Yeah. Being jackasses."

He looked at me for a moment, expressionless. "History teaches harsh lessons to those of us with long memories. Their prejudice is not unreasoned."

"But you don't think that way," I pointed out.

"I never lived in Europe."

He moved on then, ending our conversation abruplty. I frowned after him, wondering if I'd upset him or if he'd just lost the ability to interact in a normal human way. Three thousand years was a lot of nights. I shivered slightly, imagining how far those nights had taken him from human. Living that long was beyond me.

I'd had enough of being on display as Kentucky's telepathic trophy.

I moved over to the wall, out of the way, and began to experiment. Might as well work on my telepathy while I was getting paid for it, right? I practised locking onto one brain at a time, skipping from head to head, reading a little deeper than I had before.

It was routine stuff, until I stumbled across a mind that was vacant, empty of surface chatter. I slipped into it far too easily. Dangerously easy, like an iron trowel into a fairy.

Abruptly my senses distorted and I saw out of the stranger's eye, heard with their ears – full, complete immersion. I stiffened against the wall, feeling nauseous. Breathing deeply, I slammed my eyes shut which eased the confusing sensation of being in two places at once.

That had never happened before, and it was extremely disorientating.

Her – it was a woman – her mind was an open book, what there was of it still functioning. She was a hooker, paid to be here and she'd been glamoured to shut up. It had worked too well, silencing her mind as well as her tongue, and I'd been sucked into the vacuum.

She was standing with two vampires, towards the back of the room. Neither looked particularly important as I saw them through her eyes: a skinny guy in a shiny suit and a gal with buck teeth, mousy hair and freckles that stood out against her porcelain skin. They were standing either side of the woman, talking over her.

"Did you see Iowa snub Missouri?" said Shiny Suit gleefully. He seemed young; he wasn't hiding his emotions."His ass barely hit the chair before she sent him on his way."

"Iowa would never tie herself to his backwater state," Freckles said disdainfully. "Not when she can have Illinois."

"But will she get Illinois to herself?" Shiny Suit asked. "He spent just as long with Alabama."

Freckles looked puzzled. "What do you mean – to herself?"

Shiny suit leaned in and I could feel cold air brush the hooker's ear as he spoke. "Maybe Illinois will follow Louisiana's example. Marry two queens."

"Juggling Oklahoma _and _Alabama proved impossible." Freckles cracked a grin. "But Illinois has the balls to–"

With some effort, I pulled back into my own head and sagged against the wall. Intruding that deeply into another mind had been draining.

Two queens. What the hell? Eric had married two of them. Was that even...?

Utah. Ursula, our conversations about African tribes, Arab cultures. Polygamy. Maybe Bartlett and Russell weren't as settled I assumed.

An idea hit me like ice water: had Eric planned that all along? Marry Oklahoma, then Alabama, build an empire by–

A sharp pain broke in on that train of reasoning. The tray: I was clutching it to my chest, the rim digging into my palm. I let go and shook my hand out. My head was pounding. I needed a break. I walked briskly towards the nearest exit but my luck ran out.

Tennessee stepped into my path, that beautiful vamp hanging off his arm. "Yasmin," he said to her, a look passing between them. "This is the telepath I secured for Isaiah."

"Tennessee," I said tightly, barely nodding, desperate to escape. My pulse thudded in my ears.

"Now, now," he said patronisingly, smiling that smug smile. "Is that anyway to greet your king?"

"You're not my king," I snapped.

Shit. Quinn, Andre, the reason I was here. I needed to stay cool, see if Bardulf let something slip. I couldn't let Eric and his royal harem distract me.

"You live in my state," Bardulf said coolly. "But I understand. Dealing with royalty can be so… intimidating for a mortal." He glanced pointedly over my shoulder and I just knew he was looking at Eric. He turned to his companion. "She fled Louisiana to escape him, you know."

Why the hell was Eric the topic of every damn conversation today? I said defiantly, "My leaving Louisiana had nothing to do with Eric."

"Oh, but you were quite happy to stay under Felipe. What else are we to conclude?"

Yasmin's lip curled. "Northman is a brute, a savage. I imagine being king has made his arrogance ten times worse. No wonder she took the first opportunity to escape."

I bristled at her rudeness, talking over me like I was no better than a… a… glamoured hooker, but I kept my mouth shut. Leaping to Eric's defence would just give them more ammunition.

"Of course, Northman takes what he wants," Bardulf drawled, nodding in agreement. "But I hear he's moved on to greener pastures than our Ms Stackhouse."

"Another telepath?" Yasmin asked casually. They were both watching me intently. I slapped on a crazy grin, wondering how the heck to steer the conversation the way I wanted.

"A healer, the delicious Miss Kingfisher," he said. "Apparently she and Eric shared a very steamy tango back in August."

I knew immediately that he wasn't lying. The asshole was far too pleased with himself.

"Really?" Yasmin said. She seemed very interested in that snippet. "Is she here?"

"No. She is rumoured to be … too tasty, if you get my drift." Bardulf chuckled. "He's keeping the new lass to himself."

Everybody still thought Rory was a fairy, then. My cheeks were starting to ache, and I prayed I wasn't enduring this for nothing, that he would let something useful slip.

Yasmin smiled. "That explains Northman's interest in her."

"Oh, Eric will toss her aside when something better comes along, I'm sure," Tennessee drawled, eyes boring into mine. "He always does. No woman holds his attention for long."

I knew an attempt to rile me when I heard one. I stood tall, using all my years of experience to hide my annoyance. Son of a bitch wasn't getting a rise out of me.

"Yes," Yasmin said disdainfully. "It is his way."

"Come along, my dear," Bardulf said, stroking her arm. "Alabama is free. I want to introduce you."

It was a relief to see the back of them. I made it to the service corridor, dropped my tray noisily on a table, and took refuge in the restroom. My hands shook with frustration as I locked the cubicle. I just needed a minute to think, to breathe. I leaned my forehead against the cool door for a moment.

Something was niggling at me.

Not that jerk, Bardulf. Earlier. Those two no-account vamps, talking about Eric, Freyda, and this second wife, Alabama.

Something was wrong with that picture. In fact, now I had some peace, I was sure I remembered a clause in Bartlett and Russell's vows forbidding them from taking other spouses.

_Her wife._

Where had I heard that?

Thalia. A year ago. In my house, after Eric collapsed. When I asked who... Oh shit. I groaned quietly. When I asked who carved him into pieces.

I had completely forgotten that. Having two wives clearly hadn't ended well for Eric. And Thalia said _her _wife. Freyda's wife. An odd way to put it.

Why not Eric's wife?

There was definitely more to that situation than Shiny Suit and Freckles knew, but damned if I could work it out, and sitting in a cubicle wasn't the place to find answers. Especially when I was here to neutralise our Andre problem, not puzzle over Eric's past. Feeling guilty for wasting an opportunity to get something out of Bardulf, I flicked the lock open and went over to the sinks, washed my hands, tidied my hair and nodded firmly at my reflection. Back to work, Stackhouse.

Quinn was pacing outside. One quick tiger-sized step and I was buried in a tight embrace.

"You okay? What the hell did Bardulf say to you?"

"I'm fine," I said into his chest, suppressing a sigh. I appreciated the support, and the hug, but I'd just fixed my hair and he was messing it up.

He pulled back and eyed me. "You sure?

"Bardulf was pushing my buttons. Nothing new. We should get back."

It wasn't the time to explain exactly what Bardulf had needled me with. Mentioning Eric would only set Quinn off, and I was determined to minimise the tension.

…

The opening finished at three in the morning, and, not being a vamp, I was in sore need of sleep by the time I clocked off, after a debriefing with Geiszler.

Quinn was feeling mighty amorous when I got back to our room, but I claimed exhaustion, which wasn't far off the mark. I was also disheartened; I hadn't discovered anything useful about the Andre situation. And, although he didn't say so out loud, I knew what was behind Quinn's enthusiasm. My chat with Eric at the opening ceremony had unsettled him, stirring up ghosts from Rhodes we hadn't quite laid to rest.

Despite the late night, I woke up early. Quinn was sound asleep, snuffling quietly. I showered and threw on some sweats, and he still hadn't stirred, so I left him to it. I wasn't going far, only three rooms over. I knocked softly on Diantha's door until her sleepy voice called an answer.

She opened the door a minute later, in mismatched pyjamas – green plaid bottoms and a lurid pink top with cartoon hearts. Half-demons suffered bed hair like the rest of us I was glad to see, unless she was trying out a very messy punk look. Not impossible with Diantha.

She yawned, stretching her mouth inhumanly wide, displaying too many pointed teeth for my comfort. "Watcha doing up so early, Sookie?"

"Sorry to wake you. I need to ask you something."

"Yeah? C'mon in."

She ushered me inside and sat cross-legged on the end of her bed. Her room was much smaller than ours. I sat gingerly on the edge of the only chair, wary of disturbing the pile of clothing thrown haphazardly on it.

"Fire away," she said, rubbing her eyes.

"I heard something last night. About Eric."

"Yeah?" She squinted at me. "Is he planning something I need to know about?"

"No. Nothing like that. It's… I heard that Freyda and Alabama got married."

"Yeah, they got hitched. Few years ago, big news. You been living under a rock, Sook?"

Sure seemed like it. "How? I thought vamps could only marry once."

"Yeah, if they're both royalty they can't marry another royal. Doesn't matter with a consort though."

"Oh." And Eric was only a consort, so… "Freyda married again. After she married Eric."

"Yeah."

Greedy bitch was my first response, but I kept that to myself. My second was to ask cautiously, "Was it Eric's idea?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The hiss from her mind got louder for a moment, startling me.

"What's wrong?" I asked, alarmed.

"Binding spell. Can't talk about Uncle's legal work."

"Oh. Right. Sorry I asked." I made to get up, but she waved me back.

"Holdyerhorses. I can probably tell yer something..." She closed her eyes for a second, her tongue caught between her teeth as if she was doing a particularly tricky maths problem. "Nadia Al-Kahina – that's Alabama, the one that's dead. Took her name from a famous warrior queen, that's how arrogant she was. Eric and her, they had history. Didn't get on."

That was the understatement of the century if this bitch Nadia was the one who tortured Eric. I shivered, remembering the state he'd been in. If Freyda marrying her had been Eric's idea – and, strangely, at this point I would've felt better if it was – it sure hadn't gone to plan.

"So," I said slowly. "You don't think it was Eric's idea."

"Couldn't possibly say," Diantha said, nodding slightly.

My heart sank. Another marriage Eric didn't have much say in.

I thanked Diantha and went back to our room where I watched cartoons with the sound turned down until Quinn began to stir, those images of Eric with Freyda playing on my mind as I wondered for the first time in a long time how miserable he'd been in Oklahoma.

...

* * *

**Footnotes:**

If you like to know who I'm casting: Illinois is Harvey Keitel (as Mr Wolfe from Pulp Fiction, nobody messes with him.) Ohio is a young Robert Redford or perhaps Owen Wilson. Kentucky is an older Jeff Bridges. Iowa is Katie McGrath. And Zola of Alabama is, appropriately enough, Queen Latifah.


	29. First Night Nerves

And here's today's second chapter. Happy Easter to those who celebrate.

* * *

**First Night Nerves, Second Night Surprises**

* * *

I stepped away from Russell and waved Sookie over, feeling unusually tense. There was much I wanted to know: what had changed with her; what was the same; what brought her here.

What made her eyes drop in the lobby, when I congratulated her on her engagement.

I was vampire, I could smell weakness. Especially a weakness I could exploit. But I had been wrong about Sookie before. This conversation might prove crucial.

I was… nervous.

The light in Sookie's eyes vanished when she heard the message was from Rory, not Pam.

Was she … jealous? Still? Surely not, that was wishful thinking. Rory and Sookie hadn't hit it off, that was all. But the idea that Sookie wasn't entirely indifferent to the company I kept made me ridiculously pleased.

Turnabout was fair play: jealousy had been pricking at me all damn night.

Someone else would be jealous too, if I had my way. As I showed Sookie how to work my cell, our heads bent over the screen, I deliberately stood too close to her, brushed her fingers. Shame Quinn had such a great view.

Shame she pulled away and I caught sight of that fucking ring again.

Regret was a bitch, and one I wasn't used to having as a mistress.

I put so much effort into maintaining my smirk, I almost missed the blush rising on Sookie's neck. Anger? No, her heart rate was even. Embarrassment, then. Why? My nearness? The ring?

Maybe all wasn't well with the tiger.

Good. He didn't deserve her.

Although I could be misinterpreting things. Fuck, she was biting her lip as she read. I could almost taste-

She finished all too soon, rolling her eyes as she handed the phone back. I skimmed the message, wanting to know what had trigger her irritation, and was intrigued.

I couldn't pass up the opportunity to prolong our encounter with a little banter. When Sookie made a crack about animals not having souls, a vivid memory of hunting elk with my hounds swept over me. So vivid I almost felt Rosta's warm fur under my fingers, and heard Gramr's bark.*

I hadn't thought of them for centuries, and the strength of it took me by surprise. Like so many things did around Sookie. Of course, I couldn't resist turning her comment around onto the tiger and that put paid to any further interaction.

"A worthy riposte, Northman." Russell's voice reminded me where I was, and I dragged my eyes from Sookie, who was disappearing into the crowd.

Russell glanced across the room at Quinn and added, "It's a pleasure to watch you jerk the tiger's tail."

I followed his gaze. Oh yes, kitty didn't look happy. Smiling broadly, I winked at Quinn. That should confuse the hell out of him.

Oskar strolled over, hands in his pocket, and announced, "Alabama is eager to speak to you, Eric."

"Work, work, work." Russell clucked disapprovingly. "You're sucking all the fun out of things."

Still smirking I replied, "Russell, sucking the fun out things has been Oskar's hobby for centuries."

"Which is why you appointed me," Oskar said dryly.

"True." I looked round. Alabama was already approaching.

"Eric, Russell," she greeted, dipping her head. "Forgive the interruption, but this concerns you both."

Her voice was deep and rich, and her figure was rounded by motherhood, but her eyes were sharp and her bodyguards were impressive. Thalia was hovering in the background, I noticed.

Zola wanted to discuss the oil spill too. She suggested we co-ordinate our responses, and Russell and I agreed. It was, as the humans say, a no-brainer. Zola's common-sense approach boded well for co-operation on other issues that plagued us in the South, like the Fellowship. We talked about that for a while.

Our discussion was, sadly, the most productive one of the night so far. Politically speaking, anyway.

Certainly more use than the small talk and toadying I put up with for the next half hour, until I spotted Bardulf and Yasmin cornering Sookie, too far away to overhear. Sookie left abruptly, the tiger on her heels. Bardulf was up to something, but I had no idea what. I was relieved when Sookie returned, looking composed.

Not that I was paying attention to her every move.

Things finally wound down enough that I could leave, but Michigan waylaid me on the way out, a belligerent set to his jaw. "Northman," he said coldly. "Leaving already?"

"Did you want something, Stewart?" I said nonchalantly.

"Interesting choice of sheriff you brought." His eyes flicked to Neb. "Are we to assume you expected trouble?"

"It pays to be prepared."

"And to hide your spies at home." Michigan fixed his eyes on mine. "The Arab will not find a warm welcome in my territory again."

"Ah. Rasul was not my spy." Another thing I'd taken from de Castro. I added drily, "But I'll pass that on." I doubted Rasul would choose to return even if he grew weary of his post: he disliked the Michigan winters. Too cold.

"See that you do," Michigan snapped, turning away.

Michigan was clearly pissed that Maude had slighted him and flirted with me earlier. If he couldn't see through her games he didn't deserve his head, let alone his throne.

Unless he was playing games too. Maude _was_ watching our little chat. So was her husband, Wisconsin, and he looked ready to stake me.

Fucking politics. And Maude. I didn't appreciate being her unwitting pawn.

…

Back in the suite Neb said, "An interesting start."

Oskar grunted as he poured us all some warmed Royalty. Summits were a time of heightened tension and the blood was welcome. Kicking off my shoes, I put my feet up on the couch. "Thoughts?"

Oskar sipped his blood before he answered. "Illinois has feelers out. The alliance you and the others have with Texas has attracted his interest."

"We expected that."

"Bartlett should be wary," Neb said. "Indiana is further from you, Russell and Stan."

"Illinois is cautious, slow to act. Bartlett does not see him as an immediate threat." I raised an eyebrow. "Unless you heard something?"

"Only rumours," said the Egyptian. "Ohio is up to something. Perhaps with our friend Bardulf."

Oskar chipped in, "Bardulf may have something going with Kentucky." He side-eyed me. "Hugh got Felipe's suite in the light-tight wing."

I grimaced. "We know."

"He made sure to mention his wonderful rooms," Neb added blandly.

Goro, who was standing guard outside, opened the door and Jephson came in as Oskar grumbled, "Arse-brained little scrote. Nothing more than a jumped-up churl."

"We're in the Americas now," I reminded him. "Land of the free, opportunity for all."

"Boss," the wolf said to me, "the witch from the agency is ready when you are."

I nodded my thanks. The woman ran Magical Memories, one of the escort agencies we used in Louisiana, and wanted to expand her business to other states. She was coming to my last meeting – a discussion on donors, the BSA, and strategies to head off possible legislation.

"Scrote?" Neb asked, turning to Oskar. "I am not familiar with that term."

I was sure he was messing with Oskar, but it was hard to tell with Neb.

"Surely you've heard that one?" Oskar said. "Ball sack."

"Ah. From the Latin. Scrotum. I thought the English were polite."

"No, they're all as vulgar as Oskar," I said.

"Isn't your child English?" Neb asked, still straight-faced. "Pamela seems well-mannered."

Oskar scoffed. "You obviously haven't spent much time with her. She swears like a sailor."

"Ah, but you irritate the hell out of her," I pointed out. "She respects Neb."

"So? He must have heard her say fuck a zombie. It's her favourite."

Neb looked revolted. "A zombie? Did she actually–?"

"No, but she says it–" Oskar broke off and turned to look at Jephson, who was laughing his ass off. "Are we amusing you wolf?"

"Hell yes," he wheezed. "This is way more entertaining than the Ice Queen."

"Is that what you called Eric's late wife?" Oskar looked at me for my reaction. I shrugged.

"Nope," Jephson said, still chuckling. "That's Isabel. Freyda was the Harpy."

I may have smirked at that.

"What did you call Eric?" Neb asked.

Jephson stopped laughing.

"Yes," Oskar said, leaning forward. "Do tell. We'll hold Eric back, stop him killing you."

Jephson shook his head, wary.

Keeping my grin to myself, I asked casually, "Wasn't it the Blond Bastard?"

He blinked, and cleared his throat. "At first, yeah. Didn't know you knew that."

I narrowed my eyes. "At first?"

"Then it was Psycho Slicer. On account of that psycho you diced into a dozen pieces." His eyes flashed with amusement. "Nikolai boasted about that all over the shop."

"Ah." I could see he was warming to his theme, and I wasn't sure who was going to be the butt of whatever joke he was leading up to.

"But after that bloodbath in the lobby it got shortened to Psycho. You were one scary motherfucker that night."

Oskar looked disappointed. "That's hardly insulting."

"Course," Jephson said slowly. "That's not what the girls called him."

"Really? Do tell," Oskar said, eager for some dirt.

"They called him the Magic Flute. On account of him liking to get blown so much."

Oskar's face dropped and I laughed at him.

Shaking his head, he told Jephson in a disappointed tone, "You're as much use as a fox in a hen-house."

"Lot of fun for the fox, that scenario," said Jephson, grinning like the wolf he was. "Boss, if that's all, I'm gonna hit the sack."

I waved him off. "Where were we?" I asked, sobering as the door closed.

"Tennessee," Oskar said. "And his possible alliance with Kentucky."

"Perhaps they are only exchanging favours," Neb said. "Felipe's rooms in exchange for securing the telepath for the summit."

"She isn't here because of Bardulf," I said firmly, but again I wondered what exactly had brought Sookie to the summit. A threat to the tiger seemed most likely. She was admirable loyal, after all, even if it was to someone I loathed. I told them, "Bardulf lost an ally in Nadia. He may be looking to replace her."

"With Kentucky or Ohio?" Neb said thoughtfully.

"Or both." Oskar always did think the worst. "It would take at least three kingdoms to challenge our group."

"Perhaps." I paused, realising Neb was right: Bartlett would be vulnerable if those three got together. "Bardulf is the one to watch."

"Yes. You slighted the prick, he won't forget that." Oskar looked at me. "Talking to the telepath drew attention to her loss too. There was talk."

"Confused talk," Neb countered. "Many speculated she is still of use to Louisiana."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Your phone. A message nobody else saw," he explained. "All very mysterious."

"That will annoy Bardulf," Oskar said, grinning viciously.

Neb smiled faintly too. "That would be a bonus. It is time for the meeting, Eric. We should go."

Vampires were masterfully self-interested; any threat to our blood supply concerned us all. The second meeting was much better attended than the one with the Caucus, with representatives from every Amun state, and from Georgia and Philadelphia in Moshup. Eva, the French vampire I'd first met as Franco's human, was sitting with Georgia's second, Henderson.

I gave a presentation. Iowa too, and Michigan. All of us detailing ways to control feeding, keep the process palatable to the human authorities.

Eva came over afterwards, ostensibly to ask a question, but actually to flirt. Honestly? I was more gratified by the interest in my talk, as demonstrated by those waiting in line for a minute of my time. Eva didn't drag out her advances when I was merely polite. Georgia had probably sent her to catch my attention, for what I wasn't sure.

I was pleased to get down business instead, discussing everything from blood screening to the insurers we used to recruitment. Iowa was impressed by the idea of hiring college students. As she joked about the benefits of intelligent dinner conversation, I noticed the witch from Magic Memories deep in conversation with Russell and Red Rita, no doubt capitalising on the glowing recommendation I gave her agency.

I was the last out, close to dawn. Thus Neb and I were alone in a deserted corridor when Thalia appeared. I ducked into an alcove with her and we had a fast, quiet conversation in Greek while Neb kept a look out.

"_Everything is well_," she said.

"_No-one knows you are there?_" In Memphis, I meant.

"_No. Not even the telepath_," she said, tapping her neck.

Ah, one of Poppy's necklaces. "_Bardulf?"_

"_Behaving. Nothing since August."_

"_August?"_

"_The tiger hired Were guards." _She grinned, not a pretty sight. "_One was Bardulf's wolf. He lead the other into an ambush with a vampire."_

"_Outcome?"_

"_All dead."_ Her grin became menacing and she cackled quietly. _"They forgot to look up."_

"_You covered your tracks?"_

"_None to cover. I was in the trees. Killed the traitorous wolf with a rock, lassoed the vampire." _She mimed pulling him up and staking him, letting him fall. Dusting her hands, she added, _"A storm washed away the scents."_

"_Any trouble since?"_

"_No. She has a fae guardian now."_

"_Any good?"_

She shrugged. _"Diantha is here, watching over her in the day."_

"_Good."_ A fairy was no use here. _"What have you told Alabama?"_

"_She knows nothing. Hired me as extra muscle."_

"_The female with the king is ours."_ I was careful not to mention Yasmin by name but Thalia nodded decisively; she understood.

That was all we had time to risk, but I went to my day rest feeling satisfied with the night's work.

…

An hour after sunset on the second night of the summit, I checked myself over in the mirror. Deep blue suit, crisp white shirt, golden tie, hair brushed smooth. Very regal. It wasn't every night I was officially invested as king. I picked up the blue velvet box Pam had gotten for the state seal and exited my room, wishing my child was here.

Neb and Goro were waiting in the lounge. Salvatore and the female guard, Marie, fell into place behind us when we left the suite. Jephson was holding the elevator. Downstairs, Oskar was waiting outside the room set aside for me to dress in. I handed him the seal to give to the Pythoness, and opened the door.

I froze and blinked. Twice.

"Pamela," I said, crossing the tiny room in two strides. She was smirking. Oskar chuckled behind me, but I barely heard him or the door closing. I rested my forehead against hers, closed my eyes and let her feel how pleased I was. "How?"

"Oskar arranged it, Rory flew up with my coffin, and I stayed very calm."

I laughed, pulling back. She wasn't calm now. Our blood connection was jangling with her excitement.

She gestured at herself. "Too matchy matchy?"

A blue pant suit over a gold blouse. It suited her. "No. You look like a king's child. It's perfect."

She looked me over critically. "You're not, not quite. It's a good job I came."

She gestured at the chair in front of the mirror, and I sat. She brushed the shoulders of my suit, and then wove two neat braids into the sides of my hair, gathering them together at the back. "There," she said, admiring her handiwork, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. "That will keep it neat under the robes."

It looked good. I pulled her hand to my mouth and kissed her palm. "I am glad you came."

She grinned at me in the mirror. "You seriously thought I would miss this?"

I grinned back. "I should have known."

She helped me into the heavy state robes, and we made our way to the holding area, where Neb was waiting to escort me onto the stage. From there he could watch the audience; after Rhodes and that thrown arrow, he wasn't taking any chances. I would be exposed and Neb was very fast.

Pam pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures. "For Rory," she explained. "She says knock 'em dead."

Smiling at the joke, I said, "When do you leave?"

"Soon afterwards." She slipped her phone away, took my hand and bowed over it, brushing my knuckles against her forehead. A kiss would mess up her lipstick. "My king. I'll be in the front row with Oskar."

I squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Pamela."

Shortly after she left Alabama swept in, her second behind her. We exchanged nods. Two of the Pythoness' attendants arrived next, and Jephson, talking into his radio.

"Everything's set, boss," he said, stationing himself near us.

All eyes turned to Quinn when he came in, bare-chested and wearing loose purple pants. His lip curled when he saw Jephson.

"Wolf. You'll work for anybody, won't you?"

"Anyone who lets me dress like a grown-up, yeah," Jephson retorted. "Shirt buttons too complicated for you?"

Quinn got right in his face and Jephson stiffened, muttering: "You dumb fuck."

I had no idea what had his hackles up. Jephson usually kept his cool in a crisis. The tiger looked from Jephson to me, a challenge in his eyes as he growled, "Rein in your wolf, Northman."

All the vampires in the room stilled at his blatant disrespect. Lazily I said, "Is your majesty too complicated for you too, tiger?"

Unfortunately, I inhaled as I spoke and his scent hit me like a slap: Sookie, sex. He reeked of it. It cut deep, but I didn't flinch, keeping my eyes on his until he looked away.

"Your majesty," he gritted out. "Leash your wolf or I'll have him removed."

"I think not, pussycat," said a hoarse voice. "I am in charge here."

The Pythoness trained her unnerving milky stare on us from the doorway. Swallowing, Quinn bowed deeply.

"Your lack of shirt tempts me to rip your heart out," she said as one of her attendants lead her into the room. "Go change. Don't make me wait."

He sidled past her and disappeared, and the Pythoness moved to speak with Alabama.

Jephson growled softly and muttered, "That prick gives twoeys a bad name."

"You don't like him," Neb said quietly.

"No shit. I beat him once, and the jackass never got over it."

Neb eyed him. "Impressive. You beat the bear too, I hear."

The wolf grinned widely, no attempt at modesty. "Big they are, harder they fall." Looking between me and Neb, who was shorter than he was, he added, "Guess you know that."

"True, size is nothing without intelligence," Neb said seriously. "That is what makes Eric formidable: he has both."

"Don't sell yourself _short,_ Neb," I joked.

He almost smiled, almost. "I never said you were more intelligent than I am."

The Pythoness interrupted us, barking, "You know what to do, Louisiana?"

I bowed, deeply. "Yes, Ancient One."

Her eyes drifted over me, then snapped onto my left arm. The scar from Rory's blood prickled underneath the heavy robes.

"Your capacity to inspire loyalty extends beyond our race I see," she said drily, jerking her head at Jephson but I knew she didn't mean the wolf. She gestured impatiently to her attendants. "Let us begin."

Unfortunately Quinn arrived in the nick of time. The suit was an improvement though; it cut down on the scent.

I looked for Pam once I was on the stage and gave her a nod. Then I joined Neb in scanning the audience. Sookie was at the back, something I ignored as best I could. The ceremony was short and I was first to approach the Pythoness, who was sitting centre stage on a red velvet throne.

"Kneel," she commanded, and I didn't hesitate, dropping to my knees. "By the power of the Amun council, I grant you permission to rule the state of Louisiana as you see fit. Let this seal be the mark of a wise king."

She leaned forward, slipping the heavy gold disc over my bowed head. Before I could rise, she broke with expected protocol and gripped my shoulders.

I froze and the ballroom went still, vampire still. Her cold, rough lips brushed my cheek, and her words whispered like dead leaves in my ear, spoken in Old Norse.

"_Don't fight the tide. A wise man waits for it to turn._"

As she released me I looked up, startled, and saw her eyes flick to Quinn, standing stoically at the back of the stage.

Ah. That made her subject plain. I nodded minutely, trusting she would sense it, and got gracefully to my feet. I returned to Neb's side, hiding a smile. It seemed the ancient seer was no more fond of certain big cats than I was. Her words ran through my mind as I watched Alabama's investment. The tiger would trip himself up, I didn't care how. I was patient enough to wait.

The Pythoness didn't kiss Zola's cheek, or whisper in her ear.

Once I got off the stage Pam and Oskar joined me to accept congratulations. Russell was the first king to come over. Winking, he said he would send my coronation gift to my room. Bartlett, not far behind him, gave me a deep nod of respect and, unusually for him, flashed me a broad grin too.

Pam made the rest of the ass-kissing bearable with her whispered asides. She was particularly scathing about Tennessee's suit, and his second's rather lurid green dress. All too soon it was time for her to leave, Neb escorting her to the airport and her flight back to New Orleans. A blood-eye as they called them now, taking off and landing in the dark.

Meanwhile Oskar and I made our way to the heavily guarded conference room where the Amun council were meeting. Oskar was taking up the seat for Louisiana tonight, and I was here as his king and sponsor.

Inside the Pythoness sat at the head of a long table, her attendants standing behind her. Along the sides of the table were the eight standing council members, and the member for Missouri who was stepping down. Quinn brought in an ornate goblet and a pledging knife and the Pythoness dismissed him with a scowl.

Then there were only vampires.

The old crone – I smirked internally at Rory's name for the seer – made quick work of freeing the Missouri representative from his pledge to the council. Once he left, Oskar stepped forward, made the appropriate responses, took the knife and extended his wrist over the goblet.

His blood dripped thickly into it. Passing it and the knife along the table, each council member added theirs. The Pythoness spoke the required incantation. The goblet circulated again, each vampire dipping a finger to the knuckle and sucking it clean.

It was mostly symbolic: the amount of blood exchanged would fade fast, but it did give members an insight into each other's moods and loyalties while it lasted.

Oskar took his place next to Iowa and I left them to it, glad to delegate that burden to someone else. Goro and Salvatore were waiting outside to escort me back to our suite.

…

Neb returned from his errand, confirming Pam was safely on her way just as Russell's gift arrived.

It wasn't something I could add to the pile of trinkets and luxuries that had been arriving since the ceremony. The half dozen pairs of hand-stitched Italian leather shoes from Bartlett, who had the same problem with large feet as I did. The cowboy boots and a Stetson from Stan, who had a sense of humour somewhere. And the large bouquet of tiger lilies from Bardulf, who clearly didn't give a fuck if he insulted me.

No, Russell's gift walked gracefully into the lounge under her own steam, in a red dress and heels.

"Good evening, your majesty," said the Ethiopian, after a deep curtsy. She held out a box. "With Russell's compliments."

As I took it, Salvatore showed fang and said in Italian, "_It's good to be the king._"

"Call the boy a donor," Neb said to Goro. "You haven't been feeding him enough."

Goro grinned. "Can you hold down the fort, old one?"

Neb said placidly, "Of course. You may feed too, if you wish."

The box held a very expensive Cartier watch. _Gold to match your hair, _said Russell's note. _Enjoy the woman._

Why not? I gestured towards my room. Once we were inside, I put the watch down, and reached up to untie my hair.

"Shall I do that, your majesty?" she asked.

I looked at her. "Eric. You have called me that before." In Kansas, when I was with Freyda.

"Of course. Eric. Sit, please?" I didn't know her name or care enough to ask it.

I sat on the bed, and she knelt behind me to undo my braids while I stared at the closet, wondering if somewhere, in another hotel room not a million miles away, Sookie and Quinn were...

Well, she wouldn't be undoing his braids.

The woman saved me from riding that unpleasant train of thought any further by reaching over my shoulder and running a hand down my chest. Flicking my jacket open, she slipped it off my shoulders and went to hang it on the waiting hanger, coming back to kneel behind me again.

"You are tense," she said softly, and began kneading my shoulders. I closed my eyes, willing myself into the moment, concentrating on the warmth of her hands, the rhythmic sensations. I imagined her blood in my mouth, her body beneath me.

It was enough. I stood, slowly so as not to startle her, took her hand and tugged her to her feet in front of the closet.

"That is a lovely dress." I reached for the clasp on her shoulder, and her eyes glowed with eagerness.

"Yes. A gift from Russell. He is very generous."

The material fell to the floor. Her slim body was bare beneath it, long ebony limbs smooth and graceful. She stepped out of her heels and the dress in one fluid move, and knelt to undo my shoes. I sat down again so she could slip them off, watching as she placed them neatly on the floor of the closet. She was completely at ease, completely exposed. She really was spectacular.

I pushed away a longing for a rounder figure, for hair like sunlight.

She undid my shirt next, her warm fingers lingering over my shoulders as she slipped it off. When she turned away and stretched to hang it up, I admired her hips, her ass, the curve of her back. I let my fangs drop.

I stood so she could unclasp my belt, undo my pants. As she lowered them, her fingertips caressed my thighs, ghosting down the muscles. I stepped out of the pants and she folded them neatly, turning to the closet again to hang them.

This time I followed, wrapping my arms around her from behind. Pressing myself against her warm back, I nipped at her shoulder. She leaned back into me and hummed in pleasure as my hand found her breast. With the other hand I stroked down over her belly, seeking the warmth between her legs. I focused on the feel of her under my fingertips, the smell of her skin.

After she gasped out her first orgasm I carried her to the bed. Shining with sweat, her flesh was dark against the sheets, against mine. A pleasing contrast. Her skin was soft, silky under my hands, and I was reminded of Tariq's chess set, light and dark pieces worn smooth with age and use. I kept her writhing, panting out my name, until I bit into her neck and found my release as her rich, pleasure-soaked blood filled my mouth.

It wouldn't do to return Russell's exquisite gift damaged. I healed the punctures with blood from my tongue, and rolled over onto my back.

"Do you have time for more?" she said breathlessly. She was smiling, teeth white against her face, her eyes closed.

I looked at the clock. "No."

"Damn." She opened her eyes. "I'm free tomorrow."

I sat up, looking down at her. "Moonlighting on Russell?"

She chuckled. "This is the moonlighting. I have a day job. I only do this for Russell now and again."

"Ah." Like a rare vintage, kept for special occasions.

"May I freshen up?"

"Yes." When she came out of the bathroom, I went in to shower. She was dressed when I came out.

"Room 611. Call any time," she said, slipping on her heels.

I held out a handful of bills from my wallet.

She shook her head. "Russell paid for my time. And he pays well."

I didn't withdraw it. "Buy yourself another dress."

She smiled, shaking her head. "It was my pleasure."

After she left, I sat on the bed in a towel, knowing full well I wouldn't call her.

True, I was more … relaxed. But the bed smelt of the wrong woman and I was already thinking of Sookie, trying to tease more meaning from the seer's cryptic words.

...

* * *

**Footnote:**

Rosta (brawl, fight) and Gramr (wrath) are Old Norse names for dogs, from Viking Lady's excellent website. They sounded like names Eric would pick.


	30. Chance Encounters, Unwelcome Discoveries

Hi all, thanks for the reviews as always. We're skipping back in time slightly to catch up with Sookie, who's having a very long day. So just one chapter this week.

Here we go. Enjoy.

* * *

**Chance Encounters and Unwelcome Discoveries**

* * *

Getting up early to see Diantha hadn't been my best plan, not with the long hours I was pulling. An over-tired telepath couldn't keep her eyes or mind on the ball, and I took a certain pride in the work I was doing, even if Bardulf had manipulate me into it.

I didn't want to see another hotel blown up. Especially with me inside.

I spent the morning masquerading as a troubleshooter from Special Events, checking things were running smoothly: housekeeping, deliveries, kitchen staff. All the day workers. They just weren't aware _how _I was checking them.

By the time I was done I was tired, cranky and hungry. Guess flexing my mental muscles burnt the calories. Then again, I hadn't eaten much of the breakfast I'd ordered from room service. All grease and bacon, it had served its purpose: Quinn hadn't asked why I was up early, or why I was so quiet. Telling him I was thinking about tall, blond and dead would've gone down like a lead balloon.

There was a queue at the café, folks on vamp hours wanting a late brunch. I skipped the line and grabbed a turkey club and a pink lemonade. I was hunting for a seat when I saw the last person I expected. "Melissa! Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," she said, beaming. She was in a t-shirt and jeans, sitting with an older couple. I felt a little over-dressed in my suit. "Wow. You look great," Melissa continued. "We were just leaving – you want our table?"

"Oh, sure. Thanks." She made space for my tray. I set it down and was immediately engulfed in a hug. She was pleased, excited and bursting to tell me something. I patted her back and let go as fast as was polite. Me – I was a little worried about what she was doing here. Melissa was a good-looking girl. I sure hoped she wasn't working as a donor.

"Sookie, this is my professor, Natalie Brightman and her husband, Kendal."

The couple got up and both shook my hand. The women was thinking I must be a good friend of Melissa's to get a hug like that. "Nice to meet you," she said. "Melissa, why don't you stay a while longer, catch up with your friend?"

"Yes ma'am. Thank you!" Melissa grinned at me, gesturing for me to sit down as they left. "How are you Sookie? I called your house a few times, but your brother said you moved." _Great to run into her_.

"Oh, yeah. I'm living in Memphis. So what brings you here?"

"Natalie's an expert in Lippi. Filipino Lippi, an Italian painter. She's here to evaluate some pieces, and she asked me to come along." Her face lit up. "It's a wonderful opportunity. You should see the stuff this vampire dude has. It's amazing."

"A vampire? Which one?"

She looked guilty. "Oh, I'm not supposed to say. It's private."

Not to me. It was Missouri. Melissa's professor thought he wanted privacy because there might be some problem with taxes, what with the artwork resurfacing suddenly and him so eager to sell it.

"You're being careful?" I asked. "Vamps are… not something you want to get mixed up in."

She frowned._ Never thought Sookie was prejudiced._

It wasn't prejudice, not when you'd been attacked and bitten as many times as I had. It was common sense. Huh, maybe Neb had a point about harsh events and long memories.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Melissa asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, I'm in events planning now." That was the cover story.

"Really? Wow, must be a big company, handling this." _She looks so professional too. _"That's great. Step up from filing for that dumbass Fredericks, huh?"

"Sure is. How's everybody back in the Minden office?"

"Oh, I got myself a better job." She smirked. "After I upped and quit, _someone_ sent Fredericks a bunch of anonymous photos. Of Jody making out with a dozen random guys."

"You did not!"

"Sure did! I couldn't let that bitch get away with it. Did I tell you Jonah is studying photography? He's real talented."She laughed, and I joined her, real pleased karma had caught up with Jody.

We chatted for a spell. Leanne was okay, but her mom had passed, sadly. We both hoped that Leanne would take up dressmaking once she'd done grieving. Melissa was working in a bigger place in Shreveport, and things with Jonah were going great. I told her I was with Quinn. She was a little curious to hear he was a twoey, wondering if that was why I was wary about vamps – she'd picked up on the animosity between the two groups – but all she said aloud was I looked good on it, so Quinn must be treating me right.

Once she left, I scanned the other diners. Nothing suspicious. Diantha winked at me from across the room and I nodded back. Glad to be alone with nothing more to concentrate on than eating, I pulled my shields up and relaxed. The café began to empty as I ate.

A while later I heard: "So how's business in Louisiana?"

It was a tanned guy in a suit, two tables over. He had his back to me, and the brunette he was asking sipped her coffee before she answered. She was in her fifties, well-dressed and groomed, good-looking for her age.

"We took a hit with the downturn," she said, "but gaining the vampires as clients has compensated for that."

"How's dealing with Northman?"

I stifled a groan. Eric. Again.

"He's been excellent," she said. "Very straight forward."

"He use you himself?"

She looked up sharply. "I have a reputation for confidentiality, Mr Finch. Please respect that."

"Of course." He held up his hands. "Just wondering if he was eating at Kentucky's table."

"Is Bardulf?" she shot back.

I was hooked: Mr Finch worked for Bardulf. Maybe he knew something useful. I homed in on his mind as he spoke.

"Nope. He's no fool." _Whatever he's got cooking with Kentucky, Hugh don't trust him that much._

Hugh? I'd never heard anyone call Tennessee by his first name. Bet he didn't do that to his face.

Finch picked up his coffee. _Gotta get her talking. Once a whore's gums start flapping, no knowing what secrets she'll spill. _"How did last night go?"

I got a picture from her: Eric standing at the front of a room, speaking, a pie chart behind him; along with her admiration for him. She thought of Russell next, and a vamp with red hair. Red Rita. Oh, she wanted to expand her escort business. She supplied donors to the vamps.

"The meeting went well," she said, fidgeting with her cup, turning it on the saucer.

"For Northman too, I hear."_ Got to keep her focused._

"Yes. There was a lot of interest. I must say, I didn't realise how hands-on he is until I sat through his presentation." _Takes care of his blood donors. So what if that's practical, not compassionate._

"You deal with him a lot?" _Come on, give it up girl._

She shrugged. "Just the usual. He sends business my way; I send any fang-related problems his. He's more effective than the police, I'll say that much."_ Cops harassing my boys and girls, ignoring assaults, letting clients off._

She really cared about her employees, looked after them. I got hints that she'd worked in the industry herself, and her life hadn't always been easy.

"Yeah," Finch said. "Fangers have certainly improved things." _Got the mullah to bribe the cops, know how to cover up accidents. I'm raking it in. Private parties, drugs, whatever hard core stuff they want._

Hard core meant violence, abuse. To the point of killing. I gagged as I got a sickening insight into Tennessee's private behaviour, covering my mouth with my napkin. No wonder Pam worried for me in Memphis. Cheese and rice, this guy Finch made Glassport look like a saint. Him and the woman might be in the same business, but they were worlds apart in attitude.

The despicable Mr Finch shifted in his chair, and lowered his voice. Luckily I wasn't relying on my ears. "You have to call Northman in much? Any problems with the BSA?"_ Hugh would love to hear that. Our BSA guy rolled over and dived right into his pocket._

I filed that away under: Bardulf, potential blackmail information, bribing federal officials.

"I doubt it. Not over feeding, Northman has that under control."_ But Lord knows, those government folk are worse than the __fundies.__ Wouldn't surprise me if there was some harassment. _She eyed her companion shrewdly, well aware of what sort of man he was, and decided she'd played nice long enough. "Well, Mr Finch. I have a flight to catch."

He was decidedly disappointed to see her leave; she hadn't let anything slip that he could use, and he cursed her for being so tight-lipped about Eric_._

Now it was his turn to be interviewed. I got up, got a coffee and went over to his table. "Hi there, mind if I join you?" I said in my sweetest Southern drawl, smiling warmly. "I hate to sit alone."

_The telepath. __Oh shit._"Er, I was just..." He jack-knifed out of his seat, about to bolt.

Damn. I stepped forward, blocking him in and holding out my hand. "Oh, don't get up on my account. I'm Sookie. It's Mr Finch isn't it?"

Looking at my hand like it might bite him, he sat back down slowly. I took the seat opposite him, and his jaw went slack.

_Milk. Bread. Coffee. Cookies. Chicken. Milk. Bread …_

He was reciting a grocery list, over and over, his mind fuzzy. Someone had glamoured that list into him for sure, but luckily for me it was making him distracted, confused. Pushing harder into his mind, I dropped a hint. "You know my boyfriend, Quinn?"

"No. Yes. Yes, I know Quinn."

There it was, a hazy memory, under the glamour, under the surface. The smell of blood, noise. The pits? I sure hoped that was the only connection between Quinn and this slimeball.

"You know Bardulf too," I prompted. "Bardulf and Quinn."

"Yeah." He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know them."

There was a flash of something, and I chased the memory: _Bardulf, lounging on a white couch, shirtless, talking on the phone. "Threatening Quinn should be sufficient … Best not, in case Brigant gives a fuck about him." He tossed the phone away. "Finch, I'm in the mood for blondes suddenly. Bring two."_

Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

"I gotta go," Finch gabbled, shooting out of the chair before I could stop him.

My instincts were screaming at me to run after him, shake whatever secret he was protecting out of him, but that was too risky. If Bardulf didn't know what went down in the ruins of Rhodes and he heard I was asking about Andre, he'd work things out faster than he could drop fang. And there was no way Finch wouldn't tell him.

Pity I couldn't tear the secrets out of Finch's cesspit of a mind and steal the memory of it out of him like a vampire, I thought savagely.

I couldn't bring myself to feel shocked over that sentiment, either. Finch was a shitstain on the sole of humanity.

Glamouring that list into him had worked well enough: I'd only gotten hints of what I needed. Damn it. If only he hadn't seen me coming. I'd read him clear as a bell while he was talking to the woman.

Pumping her for information on Eric.

For Bardulf. Shoot. What had Pam said? Eric's appeal to Tennessee 'didn't go well'. That sounded awfully like Eric had made an enemy of him on my account. Well, technically on Pam's. But still, I had an awkward dilemma now I knew–

"Wotcha," Diantha said, sliding into the chair opposite me.

I gasped, dropping my half-drunk coffee. "Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea! Damn it, Diantha."

"Sorry," she said, looking anything but. She watched me grab a handful of napkins. "Yer kinda tense."

I shot her a look as I mopped up the mess. "I'm fine."

"Wotcha want with that guy?"

"Just being friendly," I said shortly.

She stared at me. Her eyes were stormy, an odd dark brown-grey. I'd never noticed that before. She said, "He's no friend you want."

"Yes," I said shortly. "I worked that out."

"If yer in trouble," she said, slowly for her, "call Uncle. He'll help."

Would he though? I doubted it. Andre's death was premeditated, and Quinn had done the deed, not me. "Everything's fine," I said breezily, getting up. "I have to get back, Diantha."

I did too: The locals had finally got wind that their city was hosting a whole mess of vamps and Geiszler wanted me to check out the protest forming across the street. Thankfully these days the police were real proactive. They'd corralled the protesters behind temporary barriers, and were subjecting them to random searches. No-one wanted another bombing.

Geiszler sent me out in one of the hotel SUVs, one with tinted windows. He insisted that two armed guards accompany me, muttering gruffly that I was no use to him dead. I saw through his tough-guy act though. He genuinely didn't want to see me hurt. The SUV circled the block five times, but all I got was a lot of hateful nonsense and two dimwitted teenagers thinking about throwing bottles. I radioed their descriptions to Geiszler and the police were pulling them out of the crowd the last time we went past.

After that, I yawned my way through a security briefing. When it finished Geiszler pulled me aside and said, "Go grab some shut-eye. You're no use to anybody asleep on your feet."

I didn't argue. I went straight to our room, striped down to my underwear and plunged into dreamland as soon as my head hit the pillow.

…

_A hot day, blue skies. I was in the garden, sunbathing, my arm thrown over my face. Sunlight crept around it, painting my eyelids red, heating my skin, warming my belly, my legs. The trees creaked, leaves rustling in the breeze that ruffled my hair and danced along the underside of my arm, tickling down my side._

"Mmm," I moaned. I was so hot. Thirsty. Jason better not have drunk all the iced tea.

The breeze moved down to tease across my stomach, stroke my thighs, then up to nibble at my breasts, sucking wetly…

"Mhmm. Honey?" My voice was thick with sleep, and my eyes were still closed.

Quinn rumbled a confirmation around a mouthful of the girls. The vibration echoed deliciously in other, lower places, and I arched against his hot flesh, sticky and sweating but too sleepy to care. One of us was horny, or both, I couldn't tell.

Quinn rolled me towards him, onto my side, dragging my leg over his hip. Still half-asleep, I went with it, tilting my hips towards him encouragingly, moaning with quiet pleasure as we joined. I came fully awake as his lazy thrusts became urgent, sighing out happily as I reached my golden moment right alongside him.

"Mmm. That was nice," I mumbled.

"Couldn't resist you," he said, rolling onto his back, throwing off the covers and a wave of contentment that matched mine.

The cool air made me shiver, but I was glad of it, sweat drying on my skin. And I appreciated Quinn snatching some time with me. I hadn't expected to see him. The Ancient Pythoness had arrived, so it was his busiest night: two coronations, some secret squirrel stuff for the Amun council and the trials, all scheduled while the old gal was here. The Amun council meeting was the only thing to do with the summit that had triggered Amelia's spell. Quinn had been real open about everything else.

Stretching lazily, I wondered if we had time for another golden moment or two. I rolled my head to squint at the clock and my mood took an abrupt nosedive.

"Shoot. I've got to be downstairs in twenty minutes." I rocketed out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, asking over my shoulder, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed the sleep," he said. "Fangers can wait."

I grumbled half-heartedly as I showered, scrubbing away the sweat. Twoeys, always so damn hot. I didn't have time to blow-dry my hair, so I pulled it into a tight ponytail. Quinn lay on the bed, watching as I threw on my clothes. I could feel his amusement as I hopped around with one shoe on, hunting high and low until I found its errant partner under the chair.

If he'd laughed it would have hit him straight in the face. Grabbing a pillow instead, I walloped him good, both of us laughing when he pulled me down on top of him. I kissed him, glad I hadn't bothered with lipstick, and pulled away with regret.

"I've gotta run, honey."

"Be safe, babe," he said, squeezing me once before letting me go.

...

I made it to the lobby with a minute to spare and radioed Geiszler that I was back on duty, checking arrivals. It was past sunset, and the coronation ceremony was due to start in about an hour. It was a mostly vamp affair and I wasn't needed, so I planned to take my dinner break then. I had to be available for the trials later though, so my chances of an early night were slim to none.

Diantha, my silent shadow, was sitting in the corner pretending to flip through a magazine, but the lobby was quiet and I spotted Pam immediately when she arrived. Surprised to see her, I hesitated, wondering if she would acknowledge me. I wouldn't blame her if things were still frosty. She came through security, stuffing her phone and keys back into her purse and I walked over to greet her, hoping.

"Hi Pam," I said, trying not to sound too perky. She was wearing an immaculate navy blue pant suit over a gold camisole top with pretty lacing, and her pale hair fell in sleek waves. She'd obviously gone all out for Eric's big night, even the feather pin on her lapel gleamed. I said warmly, "You look lovely."

"Sookie." She ignored the compliment and glanced around the lobby, her eyes lingering on Diantha. "Have you seen a dark, moody vampire loitering around?"

"Um... Oh, you mean the New Orleans Sheriff, Oskar what's-his-name? No, I haven't seen him."

She replied drily, "I must tell Oskar all that effort he put into picking a last name didn't go to waste. He will be pleased."

I looked at her, tried to tell if she was amused, or reprimanding me. Her face gave nothing away.

"Still," she carried on, "Ashwyn may be forgettable, but it is a definite improvement on Wildeblud."

Her mouth twitched and I relaxed, sure now she was teasing. Oskar and me both, probably. "Yeah, doesn't exactly give the right impression."

"No." Her eyes crinkled. "There is an amusing anecdote about that particular nickname, but I can't tell it now."

"Of course. Better not keep the king waiting." As soon as the words were out, her face went blank and I kicked myself: hadn't he come between us enough? I amended hurriedly, "I just meant it's a big occasion for you both."

"Yes. It is." A marble statue would've sounded warmer. I started to apologise, but she waved me quiet and said, "He doesn't know I'm here. I am attempting to surprise him."

"Can you do that?"

"If I stay calm," she said, pointedly.

"Oh. How long are you staying?" I asked, hoping for a chance to talk later.

"Just for the ceremony." She looked me over properly then. "You look well, Sookie. The tiger makes you happy?"

Thinking of the way Quinn woke me from my nap, I smiled and said, "Yes. Things are good."

"You're working for Kentucky, I hear."

"Yes," I said, my smile fading. I guess we were talking now. "Only this once. Hotel security. It's a new challenge."

"One you will rise to, I'm sure. More suited to your talents than waitressing."

"I guess." Things had been going well … until I bumped into that guy Finch. I glanced around and stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Pam, can I tell you something in confidence, without you telling anyone it came from me?"

She raised an eyebrow and nodded cautiously.

I spoke quickly. "I overheard a man, a Mr Finch, talking to a lady from back home who runs an escort agency y'all use." I paused to make sure she was following. "Now, she didn't tell him squat, but he was fishing for information on Eric, for Tennessee."

"I see." Her face was still blank, but I knew she meant it when she said, "Thank you."

"Of course. You're a friend," I said, but she was already turning away to greet Oskar, who'd just arrived and she was gone before I could say anything else.

Not long after that Geiszler, looking as harried as ever, appeared in the lobby.

There'd been an altercation up on the fifth floor. Geiszler had seen it on the monitors, been all over it like a rash and now the two guys involved were cooling their heels in separate rooms. Geiszler wanted to know if the fight was staged, a distraction for something else. He'd have egg on his face if anything disrupted the ceremonies tonight.

Both guys were human: one a Kentucky donor, and one from the Michigan party. As they might recognise me, Geiszler suggested I stay outside while he interrogated them, and I would text him any questions I needed asking.

Geiszler was thorough, and persistent, so we got to the bottom of it fairly quickly. Turned out it was nothing more than petty jealousy, although some of the things I saw left my brain in need of bleaching. A female vamp from Michigan had taken a shine to the donor, and the other guy, her regular go-to blood source took exception to her… lavishing her attentions elsewhere.

When we were done, Geiszler clapped me on the shoulder. "Well done, girl. Take a break. You've earned it. Grab something to eat too."

"Thanks." I glanced at my watch. "If I hustle I might just make the ceremonies."

"Want to see Quinn in action, huh?" He chuckled. "I guess a room full of vamps is as good as rest for you."

"I wouldn't go that far, but at least it'll be quiet."

…

I rounded the corner and froze. The doors to the ballroom were open, letting out a quiet hum of voices, and the corridor was almost empty.

Except for the vampires not five paces from me.

Illinois, with his back to me, and one of his sheriffs, a leggy blonde. Having a conversation I was sure they didn't want me to hear, but it was too late to step back. Goldilocks glanced up, over her king's shoulder and I held my breath, wishing fervently that I could melt into the wall.

Her gaze slid over me, past me, then back to her king.

"Northman is the runt of the litter," Goldilocks said, not lowering her voice. Surely she'd seen me?

"Perhaps," Illinois answered. "But he has friends in Zeus, and the south does not interest me."

"Ohio is making moves." Goldie hesitated. "That concerns me."

"He is no threat to us." Illinois sounded pretty sure of himself.

"You favour an alliance to the west."

"Yes," Illinois said. "A good base to build on."

Iowa? Guess marriage was always about power for vamps. Not that I cared what Illinois did – I had no dog in that fight.

"_If _you can secure her," Goldie said and Illinois didn't like her tone because he did that vamp thing then, his power rolling off him. I was surprised she didn't flinch, it certainly hit me hard enough that I had to stop my knees from buckling.

Goldie cast her eyes to the floor in a show of submission though. He breezed past her, and she followed him into the ballroom without looking up.

The whole encounter was … weird. How hadn't she seen me?

Once they'd been gone a long minute and it felt safe, I followed them into the ballroom. Two of Geiszler's grunts were on the door, and true to his instructions they patted me down like everybody else. Kept their thoughts on the job too. Mostly.

As I waited to be waved through I spotted Pam up front, with Oskar. The audience was mostly vamps, a few demons scattered about. Eric's lawyer in the front row, and Alabama's I reckoned – Quinn said there were papers to sign, a formality. There were some twoeys from security too, stationed along the sides, watching the audience.

There weren't many seats left, but Diantha waved at me, a few rows from the back, an empty seat beside her. I shuffled past a couple of vamps, apologising.

"HiyerSook," Diantha whispered as I sat down.

"Thanks for saving me a seat," I whispered back. "I miss anything?"

"They'rerunninglate."

"Oh."

The vampire on the other side of Diantha asked her a question and she turned away to answer. I settled into my seat and looked at the stage, the empty red throne waiting for the Ancient Pythoness. I was hoping to avoid her scrutiny this time.

"... will make a handsome king." The female voice from behind me and to the left sounded familiar, but it wasn't until a male voice replied that I placed it.

"But not a shrewd one, if what Wisconsin said last night is true."

Freckles and Shiny Suit. Cheese and rice, all they did was gossip. And they were talking about Eric again, the vamp of the hour. I stared ahead, willing them quiet.

"What did Wisconsin say?" asked Freckles, and you didn't need to be a vamp to hear her interest. I heard a rustle, and figured Shiny Suit had leaned towards her when he lowered his voice. Unfortunately, not enough. I could still hear him.

"Remember how everyone thought Freyda was under Northman's thumb? Well, they were wrong."

"He wasn't running the show?"

"No. Wisconsin saw the marriage contract." His voice dripped with the pleasure of juicy secrets. "Northman was royally screwed, and not in a good way."

"How did Freyda get one over on him? She was a quarter his age." Freckles sure sounded eager to find out.

There was a rustle and I missed part of what Shiny said next.

"... a fool, should never have agreed to it. Wisconsin reckons he won't last. Hasn't got the brains to be king."

I swallowed the impulse to turn around and tell him to shut his fool mouth. Diantha did it for me, swivelling her body unnaturally at the waist to give the startled idiot a grin full of pointed teeth and menace. "Keepyervoicedown, pal," she said cheerfully.

Shiny Suit clamped his mouth shut real fast and Freckles paled more than I thought possible for a vamp. Diantha patted my leg as she turned back around, giving me a small smile, no teeth.

My answering smile was tight.

Oh, for a look at that marriage contract. I had a burning desire to find out what, exactly, Eric had agreed to in return for my protection. How much of his predicament with Freyda was because of me? I'd assumed Pam had told me the worst of it, but–

The chatter died away. The Pythoness was being settled onto her throne.

I craned my neck, eager to spot my honey. Quinn was standing behind her, at the ornate table bearing the legal papers and the state seals. He was wearing a grey suit, a particular favourite of mine.

I was pleased he wasn't in that genie costume. No-one else needed to see him bare-chested.

Alabama came out first, resplendent in her red and yellow formal robe, with her second. Then, Neb at his side, Eric strode onto the stage, tall and imposing in a heavy yellow and blue brocade robe. Louisiana couldn't have better state colours. His hair shone under the lights, and I found myself imagining the blue, blue eyes I couldn't see from my seat.

Whatever had gone wrong in Oklahoma, Eric was living the vampire dream now.

My feelings about that were mixed, but I hoped he found some happiness in it. Shrugging off remorse for a past I couldn't change, I pulled my eyes away from him, focusing on Quinn and the ceremony. I was surprised there wasn't more pomp and glory; it wasn't like vamps didn't have time for it. But no, it was short and to the point.

Everything went as planned until the vamps went still, shocked. And vamps didn't shock easily. Diantha craned her neck to see what had happened, and I did the same.

The Pythoness had her hands on Eric's shoulders, and was kissing his cheek. Someone behind me gasped softly. When it came to Alabama's turn, the old gal just hung the heavy seal around her neck. The lawyers went up on stage, papers were signed – in regular ink, not blood – and that was that. All done.

The ceremonial robes were whisked away, leaving Eric in a dark blue suit that fit him like a glove and Alabama in a flame-red gown edged in gold. The Pythoness skedaddled, and the new monarchs came down off the stage to receive congratulations.

The audience milled around blocking the aisles, so I couldn't escape my seat or the gossip around me. A lot of the talk was about Eric. Half thought that the Pythoness' attention was a good omen. The rest that it spelled disaster, especially after what had gone down in Oklahoma, which I gathered had damaged Eric's reputation for ruthlessness, for getting out of sticky situations, for political manoeuvring. I caught a glimpse of Pam, looking magnificent at her maker's side, and hoped that no-one was stupid enough to repeat the crueller comments anywhere near her.

Once the seats around us began to empty, I turned to Diantha and asked quietly, "What was that kiss about?"

She shrugged. "Maybeshehasacrushonhim."

Somehow I didn't think the Pythoness had that sort of crush on anyone. The desire to crush someone like a bug, now that I could imagine. I shivered remembering what it was like under her stare. Boy, I was glad to be one of the crowd this time. In fact, I should skedaddle myself. Quinn would be busy with the council meeting and rearranging the stage for the trials, and it didn't look like I'd have a chance to speak to Pam either, so there was nothing to keep me. I ducked past the knot of vamps at the end of our row and slipped out.

In the corridor I ran into Neb. David Jephson was with him, talking into his radio, something about a ride to the airport.

"Hello Neb," I said as Diantha popped up at my elbow.

The Egyptian vampire looked at me, thick black lashes curtaining his eyes so I couldn't get a read on them. "Your tiger is foolish," he said. "Attracting the seer's wrath is not wise."

"Excuse me?" I said, confused. Quinn had no reason to annoy the Pythoness, not when he wanted more vamp business to come his way.

Neb's eyes snapped wide open and all I saw in their dark depths was calm. "Neither is it wise of him to disrespect my king."

Oh. Eric. Of course. That explained everything. "I'll … pass that on."

He nodded stiffly and I turned to watch him walk back into the ballroom. Pissing off really, really old vampires wasn't on my bucket list. I needed to find out what in the heck had happened.

A throat cleared behind me. David Jephson, hands in his pockets, was watching me with a serious expression. "Quinn needs to watch himself," he said.

"I got that," I said. Then I inhaled sharply.

No snarly red mind. Nothing, nada, zip. But Jephson was right there, why couldn't I–?

Oh. One of Pam's necklaces, or rather her witch's. Well, shit. No way to read him, no way to tell if he meant me harm. I just knew those necklaces were trouble. I folded my arms and glared at his neck. "What are you hiding? Kentucky won't like it if I can't do my job."

"Just doing mine," he said evenly. "And I wouldn't tell Kentucky if I were you. Fewer people that know the better, if you want to get paid."

"Good point," I admitted. And I wanted to stay safe. It was the only way someone could sneak up on me, so not something I wanted Kentucky finding out. Or, God forbid, Tennessee.

Jephson side-eyed Diantha. "Got your own protection, I see. Sensible."

Diantha grinned at him, showing her pointed teeth. He grinned back, wolfishly.

"I do," I said. "Now, what's all this about Quinn?"

"Your boy tried to pick a fight with me. And I know him and Eric got history, but it ain't clever to insult a vampire who could snap your neck like a twig, 'specially a king."

"Quinn must've had his reasons."

"Don't you know your boy?" He shook his head and muttered, "What the hell do you see in his dumb ass?"

"Mr Jephson," I said firmly. "I'll thank you to keep your opinions of Quinn to yourself."

Sighing, he ran one of his hands over the back of his neck. "Look, you're not stupid. You saw what Quinn was like with me in Tulsa. He tell you why?"

I shook my head.

"Beat him in the pits, years ago. He can't let it go." His washed-out blue eyes settled on mine. "Usually its scrappy little guys like me that have a chip on their shoulder, something to prove. Quinn... What happened to his family, guess that stayed with him. Whatever grudge he's holding against Eric, it'd be a shame to see you caught up in it."

"You forget I know them both. Eric is just as bad," I insisted. "And their squabbling is nothing to do with me."

He just looked at me and snorted.

I frowned. "What?"

"That striped idiot just dragged you into it." He glanced at Diantha, and lowered his voice. "I know what you and Quinn did this afternoon."

I felt my cheeks flush. Damn supe senses. "I showered," I muttered.

"Yeah, you did," he said, not unkindly. "But Quinn … didn't."

"He what?" I was mortified.

"He disrespected you, is what. Downright criminal, a woman like you. You know why twoeys do that, right?"

To rub it in someone else's face. Eric's face. My flush deepened, embarrassment mingling with the beginnings of righteous anger. Had Quinn pounced on me earlier, fresh from my nap, with this in mind? Couldn't resist me, my ass. How dare he.

I could just spit, and the sympathy on Jephson's face only made me madder.

…

I marched off to get a-hold of Quinn, and Diantha stuck to me like glue. I reckoned she was hoping for blood, and the way her grin broadened dramatically when I found him confirmed that.

Quinn was back stage with his assistant Dylan, his poker buddy, the one who hailed from New York. Luckily there was no-one else around. "John Quinn," I snapped, getting his attention.

He took one look at me and put down the stack of chairs he was carrying. "What's up, babe?"

"Don't you babe me, buster." My hands were on my hips already and I wasn't about to hold back. Dylan snickered until I glared at him.

"Dylan," Quinn rumbled and nodded at the chairs. Dylan hefted the stack and disappeared with them, tout de suite. Quinn scowled at Diantha too, but she didn't budge.

I said sarcastically, "Was there a shortage of hot water this afternoon?"

His jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed. "Who told you?"

"Jephson. Seems he knows how to treat a lady better than you."

"None of that fucker's business," he growled.

"Oh yeah?" I wished I had some nails to spit at him along with my words. "Our relationship _was_ nobody's business Quinn, until you flaunted it under everybody's noses. What the hell were you thinkin'?"

"I was thinking you're not safe. I was thinking that ring isn't enough. I told Northman to stay away from you and he still–"

"You did what?" My voice jumped up an octave. I could've screamed, really screamed. "You told _Eric_ to stay away from me? Jumping Jehoshaphat, that's the dumbest thing you could've done. Did you throw down an actual gauntlet as well?"

"Babe," he gritted out. "He was all over you yesterday."

"All over me?" Waves of jealousy and anger were rolling off him, pumping my own emotions higher. "I won't stand for that possessive twoey crap, so you can cut that out right now John Quinn. I looked at his phone, in the middle of a crowded ballroom. You were right there."

"He was grinning his damn head off."

"Oh please. He wanted to get a rise out of you, and you gave him it. In spades." He opened his mouth to protest. "Don't even start. I'm not an effing tree to piss on, Quinn."

He winced. "It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't it?" I grabbed his wrist, none too gently. If this was premeditated, I might just punch him in the face. "Did you plan this Quinn? Were you thinking of rubbing Eric's nose in the dirt when you got into bed with me?"

"No! No, babe." He didn't pull away, he wasn't lying. "I never think of that fucker while we're together like that. It was spur of the moment. After you left. I swear."

"Good," I snapped, dropping his hand like a hot coal. "Because I don't know as I'd forgive you if it wasn't. It's bad enough that you took something private and used it for a stupid, petty feud. Goddamn it, Quinn, you used me." My voice cracked, and he finally had the grace to look sheepish. Wiping my eyes, furious I'd let a tear slip, I hissed, "Do you know how trashy that makes me feel?"

_Shit. She's really upset. _"Babe," he said softly, reaching for me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"But you did," I said, stepping back, furious with him. I blew out a big breath, slowly, so I didn't hit him. "Cheese and rice, Quinn. The Pythoness too? We've got enough enemies without you making more."

He scowled. "The old bat took Northman's side. Deaders always stick together."

"You're the one desperate to work for them," I pointed out coldly. "I swear Quinn, if you ever do anything like this again, we're done. As it is you'll be sleeping on the couch until hell freezes over. We clear?"

He sighed, and ran his hand over his scalp. "Yeah. Real clear. It was a mistake. It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"You will be," I muttered as I walked away down the corridor, Diantha loping easily beside me.

Corridors and summits. Never turned out well.

…

I ducked into a bathroom to fix my face and by the time I got back to the security hub, I'd calmed down some. Geiszler didn't comment on my appearance, but he did ask if I'd eaten. I lied and said I'd grabbed a sandwich. Anger had turned into misery, killing any hunger I might have had anyway.

I concentrated on patrolling the hotel, burying my personal life until I had time to wallow.

At midnight I was called to the sixth floor. Indiana and Mississippi had block-booked that floor of the main wing, and Russell's Weres guarded all access points during the day, so I was surprised they needed my help. But it wasn't the first time I'd been asked to check something out, and the room number Geiszler gave me was on the sunny side of the hotel so I didn't think anything of it.

When I got out of the elevator two vampires waved me past, apparently expecting me. There wasn't anyone around in the corridor, and not many minds in the rooms either.

The room I'd been called to had a void and a human inside. Russell Edgington opened the door before I could knock, wearing an immaculate pale grey suit. Glancing down the corridor, he nodded at the vampires by the elevator, then smiled at me. "Good evening, Miss Stackhouse. Apologies for the subterfuge, but I wished to speak to you privately."

"Your majesty." I bobbed awkwardly. "I'm afraid I'm working. If there are no security issues here–"

"Oh, you can spare a few minutes for an old friend. One who so generously let you use his pool, hmm?" He stood aside to let me past, and when I didn't move he added cheekily, "I won't bite. And Serena is here to chaperone us."

Serena was the donor I'd seen at his table, the graceful African American. She smiled at me from the couch as I reluctantly entered the room.

"This is your room?" I asked her, opening myself to her thoughts. She was wearing slacks and a pretty blouse, and she was curious, wondering what Russell wanted with me and what sort of security I provided.

"Yes. Please, take a seat. Would you like anything to drink?" she offered. "I have water, or soda. Coffee?" _Russell must want to put her at ease._

"No, thank you." I took a seat on the other end of the couch and Russell took the armchair opposite. I waited for him to speak, thinking this was a classy room for a donor. Better than ours.

"I can see you're eager to get back to your duties for Kentucky," Russell said crossing his legs and clasping his hands over his knee. "So I will forgo the Southern manners and be blunt. Jackson and Memphis are not far apart. I would like to hire you from time to time."

Sighing internally, I braced myself for his reaction. "Mr Edgington, I'm afraid I must decline. I don't work for vampires." I should get cards printed.

"You work for Kentucky, why not for an old friend?" He pouted, and I hoped he was more playful than angry.

I looked him in the eye. "We're not really friends, your majesty."

"You enjoyed the hospitality of my state in October." He narrowed his eyes. "So you're not reluctant because you don't trust me. We can build on that, surely? Serena, why don't you explain what it's like to work for me."

Well, this was a new tactic. Doubting anything the donor said would change my mind, I smiled politely at her.

"Of course," Serena said, turning to me. "Russell is an excellent employer. He pays well, never quibbles about expenses."

She believed what she was saying, and I couldn't detect any signs of glamour in her mind. Yet. I wouldn't put it past Russell to stack the deck in his favour.

She paused, thinking over what had attracted her to Russell's offer, and I saw a fragment: a female vampire carrying a man into what looked like a hospital room; a close up of his neck, torn open in a way I recognised. Her thoughts slipped into a language I didn't speak. She continued, "You will find Russell is quite reasonable. I enjoy working for him …"

At the word enjoy I stopped listening to her voice.

Eric. Her thoughts were full of Eric.

His body, hers, a rumpled bed. Her hope that he would call her tonight.

A wave of heat swept up my chest and the back of my neck prickled. My hand itched to smack the dreamy look off her face. A crazy smile tugged at my cheeks, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"Serena," Russell interrupted fondly. "Her eyes are glazing over."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, smiling. "Was I gushing?"

Russell reached over and patted her arm, his eyes twinkling. "Just a little, my dear. I think we've given Miss Stackhouse enough to think about for now."

I stood up, muttered I don't know what excuse and bolted out of there as fast as was seemly. I found myself at the elevator, reaching for the call button before I knew where I was at. A quiet ping sounded, giving me barely enough warning to get that damn smile back on my face.

The doors opened and Bartlett's bulky form filled them. He blinked. "Miss Stackhouse. I did not expect to see you here." He stared at me for a second. "Is there something wrong?"

"Everything is just peachy," I said, slipping past him into the elevator. I jabbed at the button, willing the doors to close as Bartlett turned to watch me. His hand twitched as if to hold the doors, but then he strode away down the corridor. I slumped against the elevator, letting my eyes close as the doors slid shut.

Seeing Eric like that had sure sucker-punched me.

But why the hell had it?

It wasn't like his behaviour was a shock. This was the vampire who'd asked Bill for a nightcap, warm from the vessel. The vampire I'd seen in all those fangbanger's minds at Fangtasia. In Dawn's mind before I'd even met him.

I snorted. He wasn't as progressive about feeding as he wanted everyone to believe.

If I read the situation right, Russell had effectively given him a whore as a gift. That was wrong on so many levels. When were deaders gonna realise we weren't in the Dark Ages any more? Did she even have a choice? She didn't seem like she'd been glamoured, but who knew what Russell was holdin' over her…

Huh. Hope Rory didn't mind Eric indulging himself while he was away from home.

I felt smugly superior until I remembered Kim Rowe, writhing on his lap in my room. And my mood plummeted further when I realised I'd felt exactly the same as I did that night: like staking Eric and scratching the other woman's eyes out.

Good Lord, I was _jealous_.

Why?

It made no Earthly sense. We weren't together. I had no interest in Eric, I had Quinn. Even if we'd just had one hell of a fight, and he was in the doghouse for the foreseeable future.

The elevator ride wasn't quite long enough to chase down my composure and drag it kicking and screaming back into place. I radioed in an all clear, and let Geiszler know I was taking a bathroom break on the way back to the hub. He was going to think I had a bladder problem at this rate.

He was waiting for me. "There you are. Everything alright?"

"Yep," I said fake cheerfully, my game face back in place.

"Good. Kentucky's asking for you. Let's go."

I hurried to keep up with him. For a little guy, he sure walked fast. "What's up?"

"He wants your help with one of the trials."

"Which one?" I asked, my stomach flipping over.

He pushed a door open and held it for me, waving me through. "The big one. Arkansas versus Missouri."

Vamps had this rule that kings and queens could only be judged by their peers. Offering up a quick prayer that a certain king wasn't on the panel I asked, "Is Kentucky judging?"

"Nope." Noise washed over us as he opened the door to the main corridor. "The judges are Ohio, Iowa and Louisiana."

Just peachy.


	31. Trials, Temptations and Gifts

A/N: First the good news: I have an account over on AO3, see my profile for that. Had fun with that this week.

Bad news: fair warning - the last month has been slow, so I'm behind with new chapters and might need to post less often. But the Easter visiting/visitors are gone, so things should pick up I hope.

Thanks as usual for all the reviews. Sorry to lose you Aerynzu, but I understand. This is a big chapter, tying up some plots with this one. Enjoy!

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**Trials, Temptations and Gifts**

* * *

"_Don't fight the tide. A wise man waits for it to turn._"

The seer's words unsettled me as I dressed for the trial. I wanted to believe they meant Sookie would leave Quinn, but I doubted the seer gave a fuck about my happiness. Given the backstage drama earlier, it was likely she was just gloating, gloating over the tiger's misfortune, as eager for it as I was.

Or had been. I was less eager now: if Quinn fell, would he take Sookie down with him?

Wearing a mid-grey suit, suitably neutral for a judge, I went out into the lounge just as Goro came out of the room he shared with Salvatore.

"Cutting it fine, Samurai," Neb said from the couch. Goro was judging some of the minor cases, due to start shortly. "Your apprentice kept you busy."

"Did we make too much noise for you, old one?" Goro shot back, smirking as he left.

I raised an eyebrow at the Egyptian. He shrugged. "They were quite vocal."

Salvatore.

And Goro. That was … new. How had I missed that?

Oh yes. Depression. I had been neglecting my retinue. That must stop. Vampire relationships were intense, and thus uncommon, and this one was a concern if it ended badly. And Salvatore had not been a lover of men during my time in Oklahoma, which raised a red flag. A bloody flag, in fact.

I walked into their room without knocking. Salvatore was sprawled on the unmade bed reading something written in Japanese. He sat up quickly, putting the book aside. "Your majesty?"

"Eric," I reminded him for the umpteenth time as I closed the door behind me. The room smelt strongly of sex. "What are you reading?"

"Heike Monogatari."

The famous epic of warring clans in twelfth century Japan. "Goro is teaching you bushido."

"Yes," he said cautiously.

"Including the Way of the Youth." Salvatore was no adolescent, but he was centuries younger than Goro.

He stilled. "Is that a problem?"

"Perhaps. You have had his blood." His eyes widened slightly when he caught my meaning, and he shot to his feet, fangs down.

"How can you think that of Kikugoro!" He gestured angrily, continuing in his native Sicilian. "_He is a man of honour, he would never–"_

"He is almost four times your age," I interrupted.

"He is not controlling me." He scowled. "He won't even let me take more."

I blinked. That was a very … personal admission. He sat down on the bed, avoiding my eyes and running a hand through his thick curls. "Goro is right," I said quietly. "That would not be wise."

"Why do you care?" he muttered.

"Because fealty goes both ways." I paused to search for the right words. "In Oklahoma you preferred women."

"It is not the sex I crave …" He sighed. "You have someone who shares your blood."

Ah. The connection. "You miss Vittorio."

He nodded, his dark eyes solemn. "I trust Goro with my life. He is not coercing me. I swear it."

"Very well. See that it doesn't affect your work."

Satisfied with his answers for now, I left him to his reading. In the lounge, Neb was monitoring the corridor on his laptop: Jephson had installed a camera so small and quiet it was virtually undetectable. Fast enough to capture vampire speed too, technology had caught up with us. I took a seat and began checking my emails.

"Oscar is back, with a friend," Neb announced, turning his laptop towards me.

I recognised the woman on the screen. Petite, with a dark bob. Eva, from Georgia.

She bowed respectfully when Oskar brought her in. "Your majesty."

"Eva. What brings you here?" I said. "A message from your king, perhaps."

"She says she is acting for herself," Oskar said, going over to the fridge and grabbing a bottle. One of the expensive ones: he was going to be testy for the next few nights, freshly tied to eight other vampires.

I gestured at the couch and Eva sat, hands folded demurely in her lap.

"Oskar is right. I am here in memory of the pleasant nights we shared, at a time when I had few." She smiled fondly, and despite myself I smirked back. Her maker Franco had not been kind to his humans. "If you look favourably on my king as a result, that is a bonus."

"I am all ears."

She got straight to the point. "There is talk about you amongst the hangers-on, and it is not good."

I sat forward. "Explain."

She looked down, smoothing her skirt, a nervous habit she carried over from her humanity. "They say you were forced to marry Freyda, that you were her puppet, that Nadia outwitted you. That you survived only by chance, and your days as king are numbered."

I suppressed a hiss, even though I had expected this. I glanced at Oskar and Neb, who both shook their heads. This was news to them too. No-one had dared repeat it in earshot, which was some consolation.

"The source is Wisconsin," Eva added. "Some dismiss it as sour grapes because you were seen with his wife, Maude, and her link to your child is known. Others… " She shrugged.

That was not good. Others believed him. With good reason: he was privy to the details of my marriage to Freyda and the extent of Nadia's plans at her trial.

I said, "Thank you. I will not forget this, Eva."

"You are welcome." She stood and bowed.

Oskar threw himself on the couch after she'd gone. "Wonderful, Eric. First Tennessee, now Michigan and Wisconsin. Any other kings you've pissed off?"

Definitely testy.

Neb said mildly, "Ohio perhaps, or was it Bartlett that gave him that constipated expression last night at the opening?"

We both turned to look at him in surprise. Toilet humour wasn't his style.

"Bartlett," I confirmed and added to Oskar, "I don't believe Michigan is truly pissed. He is playing Maude at her own game."

Oskar looked doubtful. "And Wisconsin…?"

"That reeks of Nevada."

At that they were both alert. Oskar hissed and asked, "What has that caped fucker got to do with it?"

I gave him a look. "Lets just say Wisconsin was not exactly impartial at Nadia's trial."

"Wisconsin is a long way from Nevada," Neb observed.

"Felipe has something on him," I said. "Something Maude would be very interested to hear."

"And you know what it is," Oskar said, his eyes flashing.

"Yes. Bill Compton has his uses." All those secrets he kept, for one. I smirked. "If Maude should happen to find out her husband had stirred up trouble with the wolves in her state and blamed it on Iowa…"

"Wisconsin would think Felipe had betrayed him," Neb finished. "And he would have no reason to continue acting for Nevada."

We were all grinning, fangs down.

…

Oskar briefed us on his first meeting with the Amun council: still splintered, but there were a few members who understood it was time for unity. My mood was lighter by the time Neb and I met Mithradates in the lobby.

I was judging the dispute between Red Rita and Missouri. Somewhat unexpectedly as I was new, and had a treaty with Arkansas. But Missouri's neighbour Iowa was also on the panel, so that evened things out. Ohio, with no horse in the race, was the third judge.

On the face of it, it was simple border dispute that got out of hand, losses on both sides and no clear picture of what happened. Not the first time the Missouri boot-heel had been fought over.

"How go the trials?" Neb asked the demon.

"Takahashi caused a stir," Mithradates said, his face serious.

"How?" I asked, bracing myself for more bad news.

"A case about match-fixing. One of the accused gave his blood to a pit-fighter, a Were. Goro … berated him for it."

"Berated?" I asked. That sounded mild for Goro.

The lawyer's eyes twinkled. "Well, he removed his arm too, but I believe the tongue lashing had more impact. He's quite creative with his insults."

I smirked, pleased that fucking his apprentice hadn't tempered Goro's mercy. As we made our way backstage my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out, glancing at the message before I turned it off.

Bartlett wanted to see me after the trial.

"Any developments on the case?" I asked Mithradates.

"Missouri has produced a witness, a true shifter."

Interesting. Backstage, Iowa exchanged a nod with me. She was wearing a fetching lilac gown that set off her pale skin and dark hair. Ohio was wearing a tux. Someone was trying too hard.

When the Pythoness arrived we filed out onto the stage. Her attendants settled the old crone on her throne, stage right, where the tiger was standing, arms folded. The judge's table was stage left, and I noted Neb below it, stationed discreetly by the wall, facing the crowd. He wasn't taking any chances.

I took the chair furthest from Quinn. With a flourish, Ohio pulled out the central chair for Iowa – he was definitely trying too hard. As she sat down, tucking her skirts neatly under her he said, "That's a lovely gown, Kiera. You're a rose between two thorns."

"A rose with thorns of her own," Iowa said lightly, flashing him her fangs.

His smile faltered slightly. "Quite. Very witty, my dear."

Kentucky saved him from further embarrassment by opening the trial and we began. Missouri spoke first, insisting Arkansas was the aggressor, but the evidence was murky and incomplete. Ohio seemed persuaded by his claims, and was particularly scathing in his questioning of Red Rita, pointing out a land grab made sense: Rita would gain access to a strategically important bridge over the Mississippi, into Tennessee.

Rita was unruffled. There was prior incident: two of her subjects had been killed in the area, Missouri had paid compensation. She presented that as evidence of an ongoing local feud.

Then Missouri had the witness was brought out. The shifter was grey-haired, stocky and surly.

"Tell us what happened," Iowa ordered.

He shrugged. "It was dark. Didn't see nothing."

Missouri was most displeased. It was clear he'd expected his witness to co-operate.

The Pythoness rasped, "Kentucky."

He appeared at her elbow and they had a whispered exchange, too quiet for me to overhear. Kentucky nodded, and disappeared. The Pythoness leaned forward, her milky-eyed stare boring into the shifter. "You will tell us what you know."

He raised his chin defiantly and shook his head. "Ain't one of you. You got no authority over me."

"I wasn't asking, fool." Her cackle was dry and hard, bones rattling in a grave. I understood her mirth when Kentucky returned to the stage ten minutes later.

With Sookie by his side.

When Quinn made a move to go to her, one fierce look from her stopped him in his tracks and I had to hold back a smirk. She didn't flinch under the seer's unsettling gaze either. This time she had no need of my strength, no need of anyone's but her own to stand before us, back straight and head held high.

She was magnificent.

With a sly glance my way Kentucky announced, "My telepath is at your service, Ancient One."

"Excuse me, your majesty," Sookie said sweetly. "I think you misspoke. You hired me for the summit, but I'm not yours."

She had firmly but politely corrected his pronoun, so politely all Kentucky could do was gracefully concede defeat. "Of course, a slip of the tongue," he said, only a twitch in his jaw giving away his annoyance as the Pythoness wheezed with laughter.

The old crone was particularly easy to amuse tonight. She said, "Telepath. Our paths cross again."

Sookie bobbed that awkward curtsey. "Ma'am. It's been a while."

"A mere blink to these sightless eyes. Now, to business. This shifter," she flicked a withered wrist at him, "is refusing to cooperate. Read him, find out what he knows."

The shifter growled and made to move. The Missouri vampire who'd escorted him in grabbed his elbows, pinning him were he was.

Sookie frowned at that, and then addressed the Pythoness. "Ma'am, are you aware of the details of my contract with Kentucky?"

The old crone eyed her. "Is it relevant?"

"I am contracted to provide security for the summit, ma'am." Sookie's voice was calm, clear and strong. "Using my telepathy for anything else is at my discretion."

All signs of good humour left the Pythoness. Scowling ferociously she glared, first at Kentucky who visibly tensed, and then at Sookie, who stood firm. She asked acidly, "Do you object to uncovering the truth?"

Sookie licked her lips, and I could tell she was picking her words carefully. "Ma'am, witnesses in our courts, American courts, can plead the fifth. That means they can't be compelled to give evidence that might incriminate them."

Clever, clever woman. I hid another smile.

The Pythoness barked at front row, where the lawyers sat, "Is this true?"

Iowa's lawyer, the most senior, nodded gravely. "It is, Pythoness."

The old crone turned her head to Sookie again, narrowing her eyes. "Very well. What do you want for your help, telepath?"

"The witness goes unharmed. No retribution. Guarantee that, and I'll find out what I can."

"Done," snapped the Pythoness. "No retribution for his part in this." She glared at Missouri and Arkansas in turn until they agreed.

"Thank you, ma'am," Sookie said, bobbing her head. "This will be easier if I touch him."

"Get on with it then," the crone said sharply.

Sookie approached the shifter, who shrank away from her as much as he could. She said soothingly, "Just relax, sir. This won't hurt a bit."

Iowa handled the interrogation, leaving me free to watch Sookie. I revelled in the opportunity, taking in her expressions, the sound of her voice, the way she moved.

A good judge had to concentrate on testimony, after all, and no-one could say I neglected my duty. Or tell that my focus was her, not the shifter. Sookie read him like an open book, answering Iowa's questions with poise and grace when he refused. The way she held herself, masked her reactions…

Glorious.

Fuck, I had missed her. I wanted her back. Fuck waiting for the tide.

Her lips pursed when we got to the heart of the shifter's sordid little tale: he was a thief, not the first to use shapeshifting for that purpose. He'd been in Kennet, Missouri, the night in question, off-loading some stolen goods. That explained his reluctance to testify.

"He saw Gregor that night?" Iowa asked. "In Kennet. You're sure?"

Gregor Mendelson, Rita's sheriff, had been based in Jonesboro, fifty miles from Kennet. He was missing, presumed dead.

"Yes. With half a dozen vamps." Sookie closed her eyes, concentrating, a look I knew well. "He saw them taking weapons out of a car."

"This is important," Iowa warned. "Did they mention Arkansas by name?"

Sookie shook her head, eyes still closed. "He was too far away to overhear, and he didn't hang around."

I leaned forward, ignored the tiger's deepening scowl, and indicated I had a question.

"Miss Stackhouse." Her eyes snapped open at my voice, but I didn't get to bask in her stare. She looked away, staring resolutely over my left shoulder. She could weather the old crone's stare, but not mine?

I asked evenly, "Has his mind been tampered with?"

"No, not as far as I can tell," she answered. A faint blush coloured her cheeks. She wouldn't look at me at all. Because of the tiger? Before I could dwell on that, Ohio spoke.

But you can't be sure?" he asked. "The memory could be implanted?"

"Reading twoeys is harder," she explained patiently. "So no, I can't be certain. But his memory seems intact."

Sookie had told us all she could. She left and I was sorry to see her go. And sorry that the shifter's unwilling testimony had pinned the blame squarely on Arkansas. Whether Red Rita planned the raid or her sheriff acted alone, either way our laws held her responsible, and that put me in a difficult position.

The Pythoness asked for our verdicts. Iowa was in no doubt of Rita's guilt, and I agreed. Ohio surprised me by switching sides to support Rita, claiming that the shifter's evidence was second-hand and inadmissible. That earned him a sharp glare from the Pythoness and a thoughtful look from Iowa.

Red Rita was furious, most of her ire directed at me judging by her occasional glances and the odd phrase I caught as she had an intense exchange with her lawyer. An unsanctioned attack on another state could see her striped of her throne. Bad for her, bad for me – I'd lose the treaty with Arkansas that protected my northern border.

Fortunately, Mithradates and I had discussed this eventuality. The half-demon got to his feet and coughed, attracting the seer's attention.

"What is it?" she snapped, back to her cantankerous self.

"Ancient One." He bowed. "If I might pass some papers to Louisiana?"

She grunted, waving the tiger forward. Quinn leapt down from the stage, took a file from Mithradates and brought it reluctantly to me, like a glorified office boy. I made a point not to thank him.

The file contained a list of precedents, older cases that allowed me to argue for leniency despite the guilty verdict, a hefty fine rather than dethroning. And, more importantly, to be seen doing so.

As Missouri had lost relatively few subjects and no territory, Iowa and Ohio were amenable to a fine. The Pythoness agreed, and Rita looked somewhat mollified by my intercession on her behalf.

Iowa stopped me once we were backstage. "I am impressed, Louisiana. You followed the law, not your alliance. It would have been easier for you to find Missouri at fault."

I shrugged. "The evidence was clear."

"Yes, it was." She stared thoughtfully after Ohio's retreating back. "It seems not everyone is above taking advantage of the judge's chair."

…

Neb was silent in the elevator. I thought about Sookie. Again. It was becoming a habit.

How to get her back? I had precious little time left here to make an impression. But the prize. Fuck, what a prize. She'd been stifled with Merlotte. Tonight that fire was back, she was more self-assured, more… More her.

She had read that shifter so easily too. Her skills had grown. Was Quinn's tiny mind transparent to her now? Perhaps that made the tiger more attractive. She did so hate being deceived, she likely found it comforting to have proof of the kitty's honesty. Who could blame her after her experience with Bill.

Was I any better? At Sanctum, her sharp accusation that I lied to her had stung. There was truth in it. _I care for you as much as I am able … should have turned you … _Weasel words designed to mislead. I had certainly been less than honest at times.

I shrugged the regrets away. So, telepathy gave her an edge, put her in control. Not that she needed it, she'd cowed the tiger with just a look earlier. I smirked to myself again, then sobered.

Perhaps she preferred her men tame. That would explain a lot.

Before I could lament what that idea meant for my chances, the elevator opened. I followed Neb to Bartlett's suite. Neb knocked and Bartlett opened the door himself, jacket-less.

His dress shirt was torn, the cuffs flapping, and there was a fading bruise on his cheek. Neb looked past Bartlett into the room, then gave me a warning look as he stepped back protectively, closer to me. I could smell Russell inside. And blood, faint but there in the air. I shifted my weight slightly, alert for movement.

"Neb," Bartlett greeted shortly, his free hand fisted tightly at his side. "Eric will want to hear this alone." Then Bartlett bowed to Neb and spoke in a tongue I didn't recognise.

Neb turned to me. "He guarantees your safety. I will wait in the room opposite, if you agree." He waited for my nod before he left.

Bartlett stepped aside, and I entered warily, scanning the room. The couches were slightly askew, as was the heavy coffee table between them. A lamp lay smashed on the floor, near an overturned and splintered corner table. No ash smears in sight, no smell of death.

Russell, the only other occupant, was sitting on a couch, fussing at his face with a blood-spotted handkerchief, his usually immaculate appearance in disarray. His suit was a mess and his nose had been broken, but it was almost healed.

A lover's tiff? It appeared so. I didn't smell anyone else.

Relaxing slightly, I turned and raised eyebrow at Bartlett, who had leaned his large frame against the closed door, arms folded.

"Sit." He gestured sharply at the seating area, adding as an afterthought, "Please."

I took the couch opposite Russell. His face was relaxed, but there was a tension to his narrow shoulders, a slight twitch in his jaw. A pair of cuff-links sat discarded on the table between us. Bartlett's, as Russell still had his. Russell waved his handkerchief at the upturned table, the smashed lamp. "Forgive my husband, he has a flair for the dramatic."

Bartlett hissed, and took a step towards the smaller vampire. Russell hissed back and two sets of fangs clicked down.

I sat completely still.

After a long second Russell bowed his head, and withdrew his fangs. In my periphery, Bartlett relaxed. Whatever they had fought about, it seemed Russell was the loser. He sat back against the couch, straightening his pants and flicking dust off his knee before he raised his eyes to mine.

"Bartlett wishes me to apologise to you," he said stiffly. "We have a difference of opinion on how I amuse myself."

"At my expense, I assume," I said evenly, stretching an arm along the back of the couch, the picture of patience and calm. Someone had to be, marital tempers were clearly frayed.

"Not exactly." Russell tucked his handkerchief away, but I caught the sly gleam in his eye. "But it did involve someone … close to you."

I dropped my arm back to my side and sat forward, looking first at Bartlett's grim face and then back to Russell. Pam. Or Rory. Hiding my fears for them I demanded flatly, "What did you do, Mississippi?"

"I made Miss Stackhouse an offer of employment," he said nonchalantly.

I fought to control a surge of possessiveness, mindful of Bartlett's presence. My words were clipped. "Her employment is no concern of mine."

"Enough, Russell," Bartlett said sharply. "Tell him."

Russell scowled at him, but continued. "Serena was present." When I didn't react, he added, "I believe you enjoyed her company earlier."

In a flash I understood.

Sookie, with the woman I fucked just hours before. A woman whose mind she could read.

Wonderful.

Russell had obviously set that up to see Sookie squirm. I eyed him with distaste, imagining him as an obnoxious child, pulling the wings and legs off insects. Careful to keep my face blank and tight rein on the urge to lunge across the table and re-break his nose, I asked coldly, "Is that all?"

"Yes. See?" Russell said, turning to Bartlett. "Eric is pragmatic to a fault. He would not break off our alliance over something so … petty. Besides," he glanced slyly back at me, "sometimes a filly needs the sting of the spurs. Serena was well-satisfied."

"You risk much with that strategy!" Bartlett was furious, his words harsher than any I'd heard from him. "When will you learn, Russell? '_Jealousy, that dragon which slays love under the pretence of keeping it alive._'"

Russell flinched, his face stricken.

Staring him down Bartlett spat, "You never understood, did you?"

Russell's eyes softened. "Mon ami," he whispered, voice full of regret.

Bartlett said softly, still with an undercurrent of anger, "De Vega was right. There is no greater punishment."

"And no greater glory," Russell finished in a whisper, a heavy look passing between them.

I felt like the third wheel. All this talk of love and jealousy – their fight was clearly over more than Russell meddling in my affairs. Was it Russell's history with Bardulf that stoked Bartlett's rage?

Turning to me, Russell sighed heavily. "Bart has a point. I apologise, Eric, sincerely. I did not mean to cause you … difficulties in that quarter."

"Accepted," I said, squelching my emotions flat. I could be angry later, away from Bartlett.

Russell got to his feet, approached his husband and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Forgive me, dearest."

"You will make it up to me, I'm sure." Bartlett was still grim, but his eyes danced as he stepped aside and most of the tension left the room with Russell.

Bartlett took Russell's place on the couch opposite me. He looked from the cuff-links on the table to his ripped shirt and said drily, "Marriage is never easy. Cruelty is one of Russell's least endearing traits, and his … games are something we have never seen eye-to-eye on." Giving me a shrewd look, he added, "I do not think petty cruelty is much your style either."

"Cruelty seems a little strong," I said evenly. "I doubt Miss Stackhouse cares who I fuck." I didn't honestly know which was preferable: her apathy or fury. Neither would do me good, and the truth probably lay between the two. Mild annoyance, perhaps.

"Yes," said Bartlett. "She must be accustomed to seeing such things with her gift. She has an excellent poker face, doesn't she?"

He paused, letting that hang in the air for a moment, wide hazel eyes fixed on my face, and just as I realised what he was hinting at he added, "She certainly _looked_ unmoved when I ran into her leaving Serena's room."

A bolt of curiosity shot through me before I could stop it, and, when his eyes became knowing, anger followed hot on its heels. Then something completely unexpected happened.

With a quiet scraping sound, the cuff links slid across the table, away from me and towards Bartlett. Gaining speed, they shot into the air and pinged off his knee.

What the fuck?

Both of us dropped fang and hissed, Bartlett looking as shocked as I felt.

…

After a tense few moments of silence, Bartlett bent slowly and retrieved the offending items from the floor. He looked at them curiously. "Catch," he said, tossing one to me. I examined it while he watched me with an amused expression. It was warm. I sniffed it cautiously. No scent of magic.

"Someone has been gifted with demon blood," Bartlett said, eyebrows raised and mouth curling at the corner.

Ah. That was me? Shit. I looked down at the small square of metal and a million questions began to form in my mind.

Tilting his head, Bartlett repeated seriously, "Someone has been gifted with demon blood, _and_ isn't at all surprised that I know that."

Fuck. I leaned forward carefully, keeping my eyes on him as I deposited the cuff-link back on the table.

"Where did I tip my hand, I wonder?" he said pensively. I stayed silent. "Ah! That night at the pool. You weren't jealous of Russell and Miss Kingfisher at all, were you?"

He didn't seem angry, which was good. I nodded cautiously.

He relaxed, spreading his arms over the back of the couch. "Well played, Eric. I didn't suspect a thing. You're an excellent actor."

Leaning back too, I shrugged. "It comes in handy."

As had knowing what he could do. An advantage I had just lost.

"You must have suspected before then," he mused. "Kansas, the summit?"

"No. Later, after Oklahoma. Seeing you with Russell and Stan, with your retinue. You are a little too perceptive around others."

"Still, that was a clever ruse, Eric. Very clever." He smiled. "Set an empath to catch an empath, eh?"

I stilled. "You know Rory's origins."

"Yes," he said evenly.

"Do nothing to hurt her, Bartlett." Flicking my cuff open, I pushed my jacket and shirt up, revealing the faint scar on the inside of my left forearm to him. His eyes widened. I said, "I am honoured to call her blood sister."

His eyebrows shot up. "As she is honoured to call you brother. I mean her no harm, Eric." He thought for a moment. "Did she mention where she got the name Kingfisher?"

"No," I said, redoing my cuff and adjusting my jacket.

"Her husband, the demon one, called her that."

"Nestor. You knew him?"

"We were related, distantly. On my mother's side. My father was mortal."

When I worked out Bartlett was an empath, I suspected he began life as a half-demon. It was good to get confirmation, and that he appeared to trust me with the knowledge. I relaxed a little and asked lightly, "Are there kingfishers in the demon realm?"

"No." He chuckled. "It was a joke. Nestor was a minor king when they married."

"Ah. She didn't mention that." Unsure if he would answer, I asked cautiously, "Does Russell know what you can do?"

"Yes. But telling him was not without cost." He looked away, watching his hand as he toyed with the piping on the back of the couch for a moment. "A century, to be precise. It has taken us a long time to get where we are." He looked up. "Time I fear you do not have with Miss Stackhouse."

I grimaced. A century? I wasn't that patient. "Perhaps that is a good thing."

"You think the tiger a better choice because she is mortal?"

"She is happy with him." It cost me to admit it, but I couldn't deny that she seemed happier, more confident, stronger. Flourishing, in fact.

"Russell does not believe he deserves her. And neither do you," he said shrewdly.

It was my turn to fidget with the couch cushions. Deciding I really didn't want to talk about Sookie I asked, "How long have you known Russell?"

"Too long. Not long enough. This dance of ours has lasted half your lifetime." That made sense of Russell's comments on his constancy. He chuckled. "Very frustrating, when I knew what I wanted as soon as I met him. Was it that way for you?"

"It grew on me," I said. Like a fungus, I thought, smiling at the memory. There was really no point in hiding it from an empath.

"Ah, the glory of love," he said, smiling back. "And how wretched jealousy for an unworthy rival."

I hazarded a guess. "Bardulf?"

He snorted. "There have been many. Hugh was not the worst by a long chalk. I meant you and the tiger."

"Ah." I stared at the cuff-links for a moment, sobering. "He is… admirably protective. But also arrogant. He doesn't know when to back down."

"Pot, kettle," Bartlett said, his eyes twinkling. "Seeing your own faults in others is never comfortable."

"You have a point," I conceded. "Neither of us could protect her from Bardulf. He is making moves again."

"She won't fall under his control. Time has been bought."

I raised an eyebrow. Rory, Russell and now Bartlett meddling in my affairs? That was entirely too many cooks.

"Do you know Lorenzo Bertolini?" he asked. "About five centuries old. He's been in Eastern Europe for the last two."

"The wine-maker?" And hatchet man for hire. "I've heard of him."

"His maker recalled him," he said casually. Too casually. "He's been in Memphis these last few months."

My eyes narrowed. "Your doing?"

"I merely whispered in the right ears," he said modestly. "Those Europeans are concerned about their investment in Special Events. Lorenzo is protecting their interests."

"Ah." Keeping Bardulf in check, lessening the threat he posed to Russell.

"Quite. Lorenzo is also watching over Miss Stackhouse."

I sat up, immediately suspicious. "What is his interest in her?"

"He's returning the favour." He paused expectantly, but had to add, "For his maker. Donatello."

"For Teresa," I said putting the pieces together. Donatello felt he owed me because I'd spared his other child, Teresa, when I took Louisiana.

Sometimes it paid to be merciful. Especially as Donatello, nicknamed the Banker, was rich enough to buy out ten events companies without blinking. It would be his style to buy out the other investors too, if he'd sent a child to Memphis. Bartlett had protected Russell and strengthened my loyalty to him with one move.

I said admiringly, "That was neatly done."

Dipping his head to acknowledged the praise, Bartlett reached for the cuff-link on the table. "That is a useful gift you've been granted. More so if it works on silver."

My eyebrows rose. "Indeed," I said, seeing the possibilities at once.

"Be wary. Intense emotion will trigger it. You're lucky it manifested while we were alone." He slipped the cuff-links into his pocket. "Ask me, Eric, before the curiosity chokes you."

"Good or bad?"I asked, stalling.

"Depends on your perspective."

I fixed on his face, bracing myself. "Tell me what she felt."

"Turmoil. Jealousy. Anger, worthy of bloodlust in fact." His eyes didn't leave mine. "Also confusion, disgust, guilt, self-loathing."

"Ah." I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, recalling the terrible swell of emotions that barrelled down our freshly formed bond at Rhodes: disgust, shame and such a strong sense of violation it almost brought me to my knees. Luckily, Andre and the tiger had been too busy facing off to notice.

Fuck.

Apathy would have been better.

Fucking Russell. Sookie may have had a twinge of jealousy over Rory's message, but at least I hadn't rubbed her nose in it.

Was she angry at herself? Or at me? Did she hate me for making her feel things she didn't want? Oh, how familiar I was with that. No wonder she wouldn't meet my eyes at the trial.

"You see why I was furious," Bartlett said drily. "Jealousy is not a destructive emotion for Russ, he revels in it. He has long failed to realise we are not all wired that way. He believed he was furthering your suit, but I fear he has hindered it. Can you truly forgive him?"

I stared at the ceiling for a while longer, before lifting my head and meeting his eyes. "Yes. As long as it doesn't happen again."

"Oh, it won't." His fangs snapped down. "I'll break more than his nose if it does."

…

Neb was quiet on the way back to our suite, and my thoughts were dark. We had the place to ourselves so I took the opportunity to start a conversation we needed to have.

"How long have you known Bartlett?" I asked.

Neb didn't seem surprised. "Long enough to know he is even-tempered. Is the discord in his marriage a concern?"

"No. Did you know him before he was turned?"

His eyes became luminous, wide. "Shall we discuss this in a more private space? If you wouldn't mind." He bowed respectfully.

I lead him into my room. After the door was closed, I asked, "You think the lounge is still bugged?"

He shook his head. "This is for you alone. Not Oskar, not Goro, and definitely not his pup."

"I will tell no-one. You have my word." I took the bed, gestured at the chair.

Sitting, he asked, "What do you know?"

"That Bartlett was not human." I kept it to that, not sure how much he knew.

He nodded. "I will tell you the part of Bartlett's story that is mine to tell. Bartlett worked for me, before he was turned."

He knew Bartlett was demon. "As a lawyer?" I guessed.

"No. Bartlett was too adventurous for a courtroom, he liked to travel. He was an antiquary of sorts, a finder of rare and exotic items. Such things as your witch makes. Items of power. I collected them in death, as I had in life."

"Oh?" It was the most I'd heard him say about his past.

"Yes, an unusual hobby for a scribe. One that attracted my maker's attention." He smiled faintly and shifted to sit cross-legged on the chair, leaning back, hands clasped over his stomach. His eyes were dark, far away. "Bartlett worked for me, on and off, for about three centuries. During the Ptolemaic dynasty, then under Rome, a turbulent time for Egypt. I kept a household in Alexandria. It had a strongroom, and guards, for when I brought items to identify at the libraries there. Even after the great library was destroyed, the Serapeum held much of use to me. One night, around 230 AD, I rose to find my household in disarray, my guards slaughtered, my treasures plundered. And Bartlett, mortally wounded."

"You turned him?"

Neb shook his head. "He refused my blood, belligerent as ever, preferring death to blood-slavery as he called it. I didn't wish to lose him. He has an extraordinary mind, and we were … friends. Swearing to abide by his wishes, I went to the Haty-a, the local governor. She had two prisoners at the time, one facing final death and the other a year entombed. She offered a stay of execution to whomever turned Bartlett. The fool facing entombment declared he would take a year in silver over the taste of demon filth." He looked at me. "That was your maker."

"Ah. Ocella always did … rub people the wrong way."

"You are underselling his ability to stir trouble for himself," he said drily. "Lucky for you that he refused. Had he accepted, I would have staked him within a decade and you wouldn't be here."

"The other vampire?"

"Yes. She was older, a better candidate. Once Bartlett was in control of himself I ended her and freed him as I promised. Bartlett spent a few decades under my wing gaining strength and then we parted ways. We have no tie but friendship."

"Thank you," I said simply.

"You are my king, Eric. My loyalty is to you, however long my history with the Crow."

After Neb left, I took off my jacket and tie, and laid on the bed, tossing and catching my phone idly. It all fit: their comfortable interaction, the slight deference Bartlett paid Neb…

I looked at the clock. Fuck the hour, I needed to speak to Rory.

…

After my enlightening conversation with my systir, there was a knock on the door. I looked up from the bag I was rooting in.

"Come," I said, tossing the bag back into the closet and slipping on a thick gold signet ring as Oskar entered. He was carrying a single red rose, and frowning.

"For me?" I said, grinning at him. He was irritable, I could tell from the set of his shoulders, and poking the bear was so enjoyable. "Is there something I should know?"

"Room service delivered it," he said tersely, handing it over. "There's a note."

There was indeed, in an envelope. I smelt only rose and human on it. The card was printed and it read: _6:00 am, the roof._

No name. Who thought me stupid enough turn up for a potential ambush? Smelling the rose again, I began listing possibilities, and then laughed. Oskar raised his eyebrows. It was right under my nose. With thorns too.

Iowa. Interesting, what did she want with me? I handed Oskar the card, and while he read it I blurred to the closet, pulling off my shirt and dropping my trousers.

"You're going?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes. Go change into something practical," I ordered, grabbing a dark pair of jeans. "Neb too."

"Who is it?"

"Iowa, and no, I don't know what she wants." I was curious, and glad of a distraction from Sookie to be honest. I pulled on the jeans and grabbed a black sweater.

"Hm. Intriguing. What about Goro?"

"Two of you should be enough."

"Of course." He waited until the sweater was over my head to add, "Don't wanting her thinking you're a coward. You could never resist looking good for a woman."

My belt, the nearest thing to hand, hit the door as it closed. The idiot was laughing on the other side.

…

I landed softly on the hotel roof and let go of Neb. Both of us scanned the shadows as we stepped apart. The roof was perfect for a private rendezvous, only overlooked by the building across the street. That was where we'd left Oskar, armed with a crossbow. Iowa stepped out from behind an air-conditioning vent on the other side of the roof with her second Clovis, an enormous brutish Frank who looked as if he'd slammed face first into a wall repeatedly. He was grinning, gold-capped teeth reflecting the moonlight under his crooked nose.

I knew he was more intelligent than he looked.

Iowa gestured for him to stay put, and I nodded for Neb to do the same. Iowa and I met in the centre, clear space between us but close enough for conversation. Neb and Clovis, who were patrolling the edges of the building for unwelcome eavesdroppers, wouldn't overhear us.

"Iowa," I said, noting her dark slacks, olive sweater and tightly braided hair. We matched: dressed for trouble.

"Louisiana." She glanced across the street, towards Oskar's position. "A wise precaution."

"Indeed," I said, gesturing towards the other end of the hotel, where I'd seen the flash of a gun sight.

"One can never be too careful," she said.

"No," I agreed, and waited for her to tell me why I was here.

"I have a proposition."

"I am listening."

Her slate-grey eyes fixed on mine, their tawny centres glowing like warm honey in the moonlight. "Or more accurately, a proposal."

I blinked. Thrusting my hands into my pockets I asked carefully, "A marriage proposal?"

"Yes." She waited a moment. "I've had more enthusiastic responses. Should I be insulted?"

Her tone was neutral, and I opened my mouth before I had any idea what I was going to say.

She raised a hand, her eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'm teasing. You have every right to be wary after Freyda. But this is different. You will be negotiating your own contract, for a start."

Yes, I fucking would. Never again. I said carefully, "This is somewhat of a surprise, Kiera."

"So I see, Eric."

Why me? I shoved my fists deeper into my pockets, puzzling over her motives. "You are established, respected. My throne is barely warm."

She said, in a thick Irish brogue, "For sure, you'll be waitin' a long time for it to warm under your dead arse."

Taken by surprise, I barked out a laugh.

"There, that's better," she said, smiling. "I never thought of you as someone who sold themselves short. You may be freshly crowned, but you've already impressed me."

"The trial?" If I sounded doubtful, it was because I was. No queen of her good sense rushed into a century long marriage with an unproven king, however impressed they were.

"Yes, amongst other things. Frankly, it's not about you. I like what Indiana's group are doing – the way you're handling the BSA, feeding, the shapeshifters. I want in."

"That is not my decision." But Russell, for one, would be pleased to have another northern state on board to keep Bartlett company.

"Of course. But marriage would ensure a welcome into the fold, would it not?"

"Why marriage? It is not the only way," I said shrewdly. There had to be more to it.

"Ohio and Illinois are expressing interest. And Missouri, but he hardly counts."

I raised an eyebrow. "No, not unless you wish to take his state. He is on the outs."

"Yes, and desperate. But a state rotting from the inside is no use to me."

Ah. Someone from within was after that throne, and wouldn't take kindly to Iowa interfering. "You share a border with Illinois. An alliance with him would make you powerful."

She shook her head. "He is not one to share anything. My people are loyal, he cannot take Iowa by force, but he is rich, richer than most know. If we marry, he will swallow me whole."

"I see. Why not Ohio? A marriage there worked for you before."

"Yes, before. This Ohio is arrogant and untried." She shrugged. "Maybe you're not the only one haunted by a former marriage."

Yes, she flinched when Rhodes was mentioned at Nadia's trial. "Your late husband, were you…?"

"He was a friend," she said firmly. She looked up at the clouds. "A dear one, one I miss more than I anticipated. I cannot quite bring myself to marry the vampire who stepped so eagerly into his shoes, even for the sake of my state." She sighed. "Ohio I can turn down without repercussion, but Illinois is another matter."

"Ah. Marrying me would give you an out. And what do I get out of this, apart from earning Illinois's displeasure?"

"My strength, my resources to add to your credibility, entrench your position. Another ally. Unless you think the others would object?"

I considered that for a moment. "No, I don't believe they would. Bartlett, for one, respects you. I do not have to consult them. Nothing prevents me marrying where I please." Never again, I had made sure of that.

"But perhaps you prefer to keep your options open. Alabama is closer, and I doubt Zola favours Tennessee or Kentucky. She may suit you better." She was watching me, judging the effect of her words. "I do not need an answer now, Eric. By the end of the summit, perhaps?"

I took a few steps away from her, and paced to and fro slowly, looking up at the sky, where the city lights flushed the clouds with colour.

What she was offering made sense. I would gain from it, gain much. I should welcome the opportunity, but I was baulking.

And not over Zola.

It was Sookie. Sookie wouldn't touch me with a pole if I was married to someone else. Sookie, who was in the building under my feet, but might as well be a thousand miles away. Sookie who'd be gone in less than a century, who'd shown no sign of wanting to rekindle anything between us. And who knows how long it would take to repair the damage Russell had done. She couldn't even look at me tonight.

Fuck.

Oskar had complained enough about me thinking with my cock. If he knew I was torn between my duty towards Louisiana and my heart, he'd gladly rip it out of my chest for me.

Not that I wasn't tempted to do that myself.

It didn't matter. I wasn't ready to give her up, however low the odds.

I returned to stand before Iowa. There was a slight frown creasing her pale brow, but I judged her thoughtful rather than angry. Good, a polite refusal in a few days time then. I said, "I will need some time."

"I see. May I approach?" I nodded, and stepped forward as she did, closing the gap between us. She dropped her voice to a vampire-whisper. "I get the impression you are … not on the market?"

My eyes snapped to hers. If there was any hint of threat, or derision, or fucking pity…

Iowa knew I'd traded a century for Sookie's protection, and it didn't take a genius to work out what that might mean. I was having difficulty keeping my fangs up, and the sudden heat building in the signet ring on my finger reminded me to regain control.

Iowa didn't waver, her eyes were calm. That helped, and I forced myself to relax.

"I have an idea," she breathed. "One that will serve both our purposes."

"What is it?" I whispered tersely, still distinctly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

"We open negotiations, let it be known. You shore up your reputation and support my introduction to your group; I get a graceful out with Illinois, and safety in numbers." She paused significantly. "But negotiations do not always reach agreement."

A weight lifted from my chest, but I held my relief in check and searched her face. She seemed sincere. Using spurious negotiations as a ruse wasn't uncommon, neither were negotiations that fell through. There would be very little come back for either of us. And it wasn't like Sookie was even interested. She would be back in Memphis in three nights.

Tides turned slowly.

For all I knew, she'd marry the tiger and stick with him when the undertow dragged him down.

I had nothing to lose. I'd be a fool to refuse. I said carefully, "There will be no retribution if I break things off?"

"No. I swear it. I don't want an unwilling husband. And the same goes for me?"

"Yes. You have my word."

"Then we have a deal, Eric the Northman."

She held out her arm and we clasped forearms in the old way, as two warriors on the battlefield.

I looked down at her. "A pleasure doing business with you, Kiera Delaney."

She smiled. "Clovis is probably having kittens right now."

I grinned at the image. Yes, neither of our 'snipers' had a clear shot. "Oskar is cursing me to the heavens, no probably about it."

"You should have that stick surgical removed from his arse," she said, laughing as we broke apart.

I watched her leave, realising I liked her. She was fair, forward-thinking; she would fit in with the group. If it wasn't for Sookie, I'd have jumped at her offer.

Oskar was more pissy than ever when I wouldn't tell him what Iowa and I had discussed. I was smirking at his annoyance when we got back to the suite.

Then I saw who was waiting. No-one knew how he'd gotten through security, but then the cretin had always had a remarkable gift for evading detection.

Bubba, fresh from Las Vegas and de Castro's court.

…

**Footnotes:**

The two quotes on jealousy Bartlett used:

'Jealousy, that dragon which slays love under the pretence of keeping it alive.' – Havelock Ellis.

'There is no greater glory than love, nor any greater punishment than jealousy.' – Lope de Vega.


	32. Favours owed, Bargains made

I'm back! I think you'll enjoy this chapter, but first, just in case you missed any of these cool things, some annoucements.

1.** Fangbangers Anonymous** has launched on wordpress. It's abolutely fab. It lists lots of great SVM/TB writers who are on wordpress or other sites, so you can find those hidden gems you may have missed. (Go there immediately. You will have hours of happy reading.)

2\. **You Want Blood Awards** are open for nominations - Has it really been a year since last time? Wow, time flies.

3\. If history is your bag, or even if it isn't, check out the entries in American Android's SVM/TB Historical Fanfiction Contest at **area5bloodypen** on wordpress. Voting is open. And keep an eye out for future contests there too, they're going to run every quarter.

Thank you to all the lovely, hardworking people in this fandom who donate their time and creativity to run things like these. They rock.

Now, on with the story...

* * *

**Favours Owed, Bargains Made.**

* * *

Facing Eric at the trial was excruciating.

Quinn was there, making things a hundred times more awkward. He would have come to my side but I didn't want that. I would not look weak. I would not show fear. Not of the Pythoness, not of anyone. I might feel it, but I sure as hell wouldn't show it.

And I would not be used in a way I didn't want: I'd made real sure that was worked into my contract with Kentucky.

I certainly wasn't comfortable forcing an unwilling witness to testify, not when I could hearthat witness thinking with resigned certainty that he'd be killed if he spoke up or kept quiet. Either way the shifter figured one lot of vamps or the other would hunt him down. He was worried about his family, how his wife would manage without him, not seeing his sons grow up.

All because he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He had nothing to do with the vamps and their stupid fight, why should he and his family suffer for it? I was real pleased with myself when I came up with a way to spare him. Less pleased when I discovered he was a thief, but still, he didn't deserve to die for that.

I used the excuse of touching the witness to put me further from the judges. Further from a certain blond, whose presence made me distinctly uncomfortable. Even with the added distance, I was hyper-aware of every move Eric made. His gaze weighed heavy on me while I answered Iowa. When he spoke to me, I didn't meet his eyes, afraid of what mine might give away, afraid I'd give him an advantage.

Never let a predator catch the scent of blood.

I was as relieved as the shifter when his testimony was over and I could get out of there. I'd had one hell of a day. Finch, the fight with Quinn, seeing Eric with … I was still reeling from my reaction to that. Perplexed by it.

Oddly, it was something Rory had said that finally consoled me, much later, when I was alone in bed, staring at the dark ceiling and listening to Quinn's even breathing from the couch across the room. I whispered the words out loud like a magic charm.

"Jealousy isn't love. It _isn't._"

No, that green tide of fury must've come from a place of pride, that was the only explanation. It bruised a woman's ego to see an ex with a beautiful woman. Especially when you saw it in high-definition, with surround-sound, in all its sensory glory.

Pride, that's all it was.

…

I'd lain awake in the dark far too long to be up before Quinn. The smell of coffee woke me, and I opened my eyes to a breakfast tray. Coffee, pastries, and a bunch of white tulips.

"Morning babe," Quinn said softly as I sat up, pulling the covers around me. I had missed his warmth in the night, but I was holding firm. He was standing awkwardly beside the bed, already dressed, and he leaned over to put the tray in my lap, kissing the top of my head as he did. "The florist said white tulips were good apology flowers."

"For spring and new beginnings." I sighed. "Thank you. They're lovely, but I'm still mad. Flowers can't fix this."

"I know."

I busied myself with my coffee, picking at the pastries without really eating, leaving him hanging for a while. When I looked up his hangdog expression matched the sombre mood radiating off him. Sighing again I said, "What made you do it, Quinn?"

Sighing too, he sat on the end of the bed. "I don't know. Northman makes me crazy, always has." _My fault. Shouldn't have let the guys ribbing me about him rile me up like that. _"He just gets under my skin."

I could appreciate that. Eric had a way of getting under my skin too. "Give me some time to cool off, Quinn," I said. "What you did … It was disrespectful, you know?"

"Yes, I know. I just…" _Can't lose this. Gotta fix it. _He looked up, and his eyes were stormy. "I don't want to lose you."

He was trying to impress upon me through his thoughts that he cared for me, respected me. If actions spoke louder than words, thoughts fell somewhere in between and I wasn't ready to forget what he'd done, even if his mind was telling me it came from a place of insecurity. An insecurity I felt partly responsible for: in Quinn's eyes I'd already picked Eric over him once. On the surface he blamed Eric and his blood for that, but deep down he wondered if there was more to it.

I wished we were back in Memphis, away from the summit, away from … complications.

I regretted coming. I'd woken old hurts in Quinn, and being around Eric was stirring up my own unsettling emotions, even if that was only wounded pride.

But pride was a sin and praying to the Good Lord to save mine at a vampire trial must've offended the big guy upstairs, because someone sure decided I needed my nose rubbed in my failings.

…

Convincing myself long hours and stress contributed to my wild emotions of the night before, I started the morning in a calmer mood. Everything went smoothly until I popped into the cafeteria late morning for a quick caffeine fix. Balancing my purse, a coffee and the pecan pie that I was treating myself to to make up for the breakfast I had hardly touched, I scanned the room for a seat. The place was packed with folks breakfasting, all on vamp hours. But there was a space…

Next to Serena. Who saw me and waved.

Gritting my teeth behind my smile, I sat opposite her and groaned internally when I saw her plate was nowhere near clean. She was there for the duration.

"Miss Stackhouse, isn't it?" she said, taking a neat bite of her pancakes.

"Sookie," I said automatically. Damn my Southern manners. Well, in for a penny. Might as well do a little digging. It stuck in my craw that she'd been 'gifted' to Eric and who knows who else. Too darn close to Franklin passing Tara on to Mickey. Bill passing me onto Eric, come to that. We were human beings, not property.

A little wary of what I might see, I focused on her mind and asked, "Is Serena your real name?"

"It's my name when I work for Russell," she said, smiling._ When I'm away from the hospital._

Was she a nurse? She watched me doctoring my coffee – I was suddenly in the mood for cream and plenty of sugar – and she waited until I'd finished to offer: "If you have any questions, ask away."

Oh, I'd get answers alright. Find out if Russell forced her into doing what she did for him. I wouldn't put anything past him at this point – any esteem I had for Russell Edgington disappeared about the time I realised he'd deliberately set me up to read her mind. And by this point I was sure Russell didn't give a fig about me working for him.

Maybe I could help her. Although I wasn't sure how: if she'd been glamoured she mightn't think anything was wrong herself. Keep my tone polite I asked, "How long have you been working for vampires?"

"Three, four years. Only for Russell, I can't speak to the rest. I gather you're freelance?"_ Russell said Kentucky wasn't the first vampire to hire her._

"Something like that." Her thoughts about Russell were warm, friendly. Like they'd been last night. It made me suspicious, but I still couldn't detect any signs of glamour.

"You provide security?" When I nodded she added, "Strange."

"What, because I'm a woman?" I blurted out.

"No, no. That Russell asked me to talk to you, not one of his guards. Although, now you mention it, maybe that's because I'm a woman. All his guards are men." She smiled warmly. "Very good-looking men, naturally."

I found myself smiling back. "He sure likes to be surrounded by pretty things, doesn't he?" I said. I took a sip of my coffee, watching her.

She puzzled me. She had a presence, a quiet dignity that made her more than a beautiful ornament. She didn't act like a … Well, like a whore. That's how she thought of it herself though, being paid to service vamps of Russell's choosing. Not that she'd objected to his choosing Eric.

And Eric had sure seemed to appreciate her company. More than once, too – I'd caught from her that it wasn't the first time they'd bumped uglies. I wondered if he'd put in a request. She wasn't his usual blonde, that was for sure. She couldn't look more different to me: tall, slim, dark-skinned. We were chalk and cheese.

Like Mark and Miriam. Hadn't I thought Pam had the hots for Mark precisely because he didn't remind her of her loss?

No, no. That was a ridiculous idea. Eric had Rory, and goodness knows how many donors at home. Variety was probably a spice vampires craved in their love lives, being so long-lived and all. Nothing to do with me.

Bringing myself back to the conversation I said, "Russell's second is a woman, isn't she?"

"Betty Joe? Yes." _Not so pretty to look at that one, but she's efficient. _She took a mouthful, chewing slowly. _Maybe Russell wanted me to speak to her because she has other priorities, like me. _She swallowed and said encouragingly, "Russell is very flexible about scheduling, you know. Always tells me well in advance, very accepting when I turn him down. He knows my day job comes first."

That sounded … not at all like what I expected."What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

She hesitated. _Doesn't know my real name, it's okay._ "I'm a surgeon. Reconstructive."

"Oh. Wow." That explained the hospital scene I'd picked up from her last night. That bite was awful messy. And I did know her real name now: Ruth Abraham.

She was watching me over her coffee cup, looking amused. "Surprised?"

"A little." And I hadn't hid it well. I cleared my throat, embarrassed by my assumption she was a nurse, feeling I'd been measured and found wanting. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "I guess I didn't think a surgeon would be … doing what you do for Russell."

"Yes, not what you'd expect from a blood whore." I winced, and she shrugged. "It is what it is. You haven't had dealings with many … donors?" _Seems more sheltered than judgemental. She can't have worked around vamps that long._

"No, can't say as I have." Beyond checking they weren't a danger, I didn't really linger in their minds.

"There's more to us than the job. Actually, for me it's more like a hobby. A very enjoyable hobby." She smiled and I braced myself for images of Eric, but it was a wild romp with that female vamp from the hospital scene she was remembering.

Blushing, I cleared my throat again. "I guess that's your choice. Isn't it?" I put enough uncertainty into my voice that she understood.

"Yes. My choice. An unusual one, perhaps." She added, not unkindly, "One you hadn't imagined someone making freely."

"No, I guess I hadn't." I knew I wouldn't chose it. Having sex with strangers on demand would make me beyond miserable. I just … needed more control after what my great-uncle did to me. But different strokes suited different folks, and Serena certainly enjoyed her 'hobby' from what I'd seen in her head.

"It works for me," she said. "I enjoy it and it helps me unwind, my day job is very stressful. I have a busy life, with no time for a relationship, but I have … physical needs. You understand?" She looked at me for my reaction, unashamed.

"Yeah. I get that," I said, surprised to find I admired her honesty, her blunt ownership of her sexuality. Whatever got her rocks off, I guessed. She wasn't being forced or hurtin' anyone else, far as I could see. "You're a red-blooded woman, and vamps are a … physical bunch."

"And I'm bisexual. Vampires are accepting of that."

"Yes, they're certainly not prejudiced there. That's one thing to be said for them."

There was a lull in conversation while she ate and I toyed with my pie. Still curious I asked, "How did you meet Russell?"

"One of his pretty boys owes his face to me. I do a little cosmetic work on the side, it pays well. So when there was … an accident, one of Russell's vampires came to me for help. I agreed, as long as I wasn't heavily glamoured."

"And they stuck to that?"

She smiled. "Yes, I needed my mind intact to function as a surgeon. And I was willing to work for them again, should the occasion arise. So I was valuable beyond my body and blood, Russell saw that. Although I have allowed him to glamour me to secrecy over my assignments for him. Like a confidentiality cause."

That obviously didn't cover her thoughts, or I'd have been spared the details of her … assignment with Eric. "What sort of surgery you do, apart from makin' pretty boys prettier?"

"Facial reconstruction mostly. The clinic I work at treats people with no insurance, charity cases." I saw a crowded waiting room, a woman with a burn on her face, a child with a birthmark. "It doesn't pay well, but the cosmetic work makes up the shortfall."

"That's good of you." I could see how passionate she was about it, and that she needed that extra money. To repay … loans? It was hard to judge her age. She could be fresh out of medical school, that was real expensive. Maybe that's why she was moonlighting for Russell. "I guess the extra work for Russell helps too."

"Oh, that's my mad-money. For frivolous things like dresses and holidays. I can meet my responsibilities without it." I saw an older woman then, a gaggle of dusty children, somewhere hot. Her family? She thought about sending them money. Africa somewhere. Oh, she was supporting a whole mess of cousins and siblings out there. That's where her money was going.

She wasn't at all what I'd expected. Fascinated, I asked, "How d'you get into surgery?"

"Oh, that is a long story that starts a continent away." She looked at me shrewdly. "And I can tell when I'm being pumped for information, you know."

"I... Sorry. Bad habit." That had been verging on nosy.

"I suppose working in security makes one suspicious." Staring at me intently, she wondering how easily I could track down her real identity, and if she'd made a mistake talking about herself. She considered asking Russell to make sure I didn't expose her. "My employers are not terribly open-minded, Sookie. They would disapprove of what I do for Russell, as much for my association with vampires as the nature of the work."

"I understand. I won't make trouble for you, I promise."

Whatever she saw in my eyes reassured her, and she nodded, deciding to give me the benefit of the doubt. We fell into silence as she finished up her food and I drank my coffee, toying with my pie, thinking about Quinn.

"Is there some reason you don't want to work for Russell?" she asked eventually, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

I sighed. "It's not Russell. It's... I haven't had the best experiences with vampires."

"Hence your question about choice." She sighed too. "I know what they are, Sookie. And how … casually they treat most humans. But I prefer to be around them. Especially the older ones." She smiled, sadly this time, and I felt an old, dulled grief from her. "I too, live with the pain of never going home, of knowing those I love consider me a monster."

"What happened to you?" I asked softly. I could see some of it, but I didn't understand the language being shouted, just the ache she felt at the memory.

"I grew up in in rural Ethiopia. Not the most … liberated of places. My mother found me with another girl. I was fourteen, I didn't know the words for what we did, not until my mother spat them in my face. In my country, such behaviour was taboo, punished. My mother sent for a man from another village. He was going to steal me away, make me his wife."

"By force," I said. I was tearing up at the things I could see in her head. I didn't know what to say.

"My aunt–" Her voice caught, but her dignity held. "It is only because of her that I escaped. The other girl did not."

"What happened to her?" I whispered.

"She died at nineteen. In childbirth, her fourth in as many years. I found that out much later."

Her mind was full of her, her first love, a stony grave she could only imagine, never visit. I reached for her hand across the table and said thickly, "I'm so sorry."

She reached over with her other hand and patted mine. "That place is a long way from here," she said gently, as if it was me that needed comforting.

Maybe it was. She let my hand go and I took it back, wiping away a tear, my mind full of Lafayette, the struggle he had growing up, his terrible death. I said sadly, "People are so cruel."

"Yes, yes they are. That is why I sleep with vampires. They are strong, they will not be hurt because of my choices."_ I cannot live with that again._

With great dignity, she folded her napkin and tidied her plate. "Have a good day, Sookie."

I left my pie unfinished, all appetite gone. The humbling encounter with Serena played on my mind for the rest of the morning. Her childhood, the struggles she'd overcome, it all made my problems seem so small.

…

Halfway through a visit to housekeeping, my phone rang. I ignored it until I finished checking the staff that were around, looking at the text only when I was on the way out the door.

Niall. A terse message telling, not asking, me to meet him at a restaurant three blocks away as soon as I could. I cussed under my breath.

"Whatsup?" Diantha asked appearing at my elbow.

I showed her the message and huffed. "Niall thinks he can just snap his fingers and I have to come running."

She shrugged. "Better go. Almost time for yer break anyway, right? Want me to square it with Geiszler?"

"No. I'll do that." I went to talk to my boss, whose objections melted the second he heard Niall's name. Diantha had a rental, so she drove and I texted Quinn from the car. We were supposed to meet up for a late lunch. He was manning the Special Events table at the trade fair, which was open specially for the local twoeys that afternoon, as a gesture of goodwill. Quinn was hoping to drum up some business.

**Something came up. R****ain-check**** on lunch?** I sent him.

**Sure. You ****ok****? **I couldn't tell from his short reply, but I figured he was pissed and worried.

**Yes, fine. Speak later.**

I was both regretful and relieved to break our lunch date. It would have been awkward; I wasn't ready to forgive him yet, despite his contrition.

The restaurant was classy. The maître d' who walked us in was thinking snobby thoughts about Diantha's clothes, not that Diantha would give a rat's ass for her opinion. Mine passed muster: I was wearing heels and a smart pant suit. A black one, matching my mood when I saw who was sitting with Niall.

Daisy Riverstone.

The witch from Tyler, East Texas. The one I met when Lattesta kidnapped me.

She was wearing a pale blue tunic top gathered with a wide tan leather belt, over soft buckskin pants and boots. Her hair, streaked with a touch more grey than before, hung loose down her back and her tan was deeper now, her cheekbones more prominent. She'd lost weight, too much. Same steady hazel eyes though, same deep wisdom behind them, so I reckoned her ancestors were still in there with her. Reading her was just asking for trouble, so I refrained.

Niall was as dapper as ever in a dark plum velvet suit. He smiled warmly. "Sookie, it is good to see you."

"Hello Niall," I said. He stood and kissed my cheek, making me a little less annoyed with him, but not much. I sat down, Diantha taking the seat besides me.

"Shall we eat first?" he said, eyeing me. "Yes, I see that would be best." He waved a waiter over.

"Sookie Stackhouse," Daisy said. "You look better than the last time we met."

"Daisy Riverstone," I returned mockingly. "You don't."

Smiling with her eyes but not her lips, she said, "The warrior's heart still beats within you."

Niall cleared his throat, and looked pointedly at me, as if I was a misbehaving child. Taking the hint, I put on my sweetest smile and held my tongue while he ordered.

Halfway through my delicious chicken parmesan I realised what a good strategist Niall was. I was ravenous; I'd hardly eaten all day. Vamp hours really messed up a girl's meal schedule. I glanced up and saw that Daisy had hardly touched her salad.

Hm. She didn't seem the type to diet. Niall, on the other hand, was tasting everything on his plate with the air of a man conducting an experiment of uncertain success. Diantha looked up from her almost finished spaghetti and meatballs and winked at me, so I dug right back in. After the last tasty morsel, I sat back and asked, "So, what's up Niall?"

He made a tiny gesture, and the noise of cutlery scraping and other conversations all faded as if someone had pressed a universal remote. "Daisy needs your assistance," he said.

I eyed the witch. "Uh-huh. I have an arrangement with Special Events. You need to go through them to hire me."

"I'm not hiring you, I'm calling in a favour."

"What favour? If this is about Lattesta, I told you who he was and what he was doing, sniffing around y'all. We're even."

She shook her head. "He was getting nowhere fast before you showed up. And I made him forget all about you. You owe me."

I saw Niall crumple his napkin out of the corner of my eyes. "Ladies," he said, his voice velvet politeness over sharp irritation. "If I might have a word with Sookie, alone."

Oh-oh. He was pulling rank on me.

Daisy got up to leave. I cast an appealing glance at Diantha but Niall nodded curtly at her. Shrugging she got up and followed Daisy in the direction of the restrooms.

"This one of those things I have to learn about your world, isn't it?" I said, before he could start in on me.

"Yes, it is. You are a Brigant, however dilute your blood. We honour our debts, Sookie." His face was stern and proud, the Prince not the grandfather speaking.

"I didn't ask her to wipe Lattesta's memory," I muttered.

He stared at me for a moment. "Yet you benefited from it. She did you a great favour. You will hear her out."

I glared at him. "Fine. But you and me need to have a talk about you screenin' my mail."

He raised an eyebrow. "Screening?"

"You only let Mr Cataliades write to me because you needed Diantha's help."

"Did Diantha tell you this?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nope. Worked it out myself." With a little help from a certain demon lawyer. "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours – that's how it works, right?"

His mouth curled into a crooked smile. "You are a fast learner. And a worthy granddaughter."

"Well, that's real nice of you to say, but I don't appreciate you cutting me off from folk who are my friends like that."

He shrugged. "It is my right as your protector, as the head of your line. I do these things in your interests."

Just another high-handed asshole, I thought sourly. "Well, I don't like it."

"You are free to contact any … friends that you wish." He didn't sound happy about admitting that, and even less happy about what he said next. "I apologise. It seems I did not protect you from the FBI as well as I hoped."

I said dryly, "I don't suppose that makes you indebted to Daisy in my place."

"No, it does not." He smiled. "You think like a fairy."

I held back from rolling my eyes. Honouring your debts was a matter of family pride, but trying to stick someone else with them got me a pat on the head. Go figure. Fairy morality was as flexible and tricky as their relationship with the truth.

When the others returned, I listened as politely as I could to Daisy's story.

Turned out things had gotten too hot in Texas for her and her friends in Houston, the vigilantes. Daisy and her fella, the big werewolf with hands like spades, had been laying low in New Mexico. Up until they had a big fight and Hector, that was his name, disappeared some six months back. Hector was the reason Daisy got involved with Tooth 'n Claw in the first place, he hated the Chosen.

Then a body turned up in the desert last week.

"Human, not enough left to tell more after the coyotes had finished with him." Daisy glared at her plate for a moment. "Hector's scent was in the area. The local coven did a reconstruction. It didn't show the killer, but I knew the dead man. He was Chosen."

"So…" I said. "You think your boyfriend murdered this man." Something told me she wasn't exactly gutted about the killing part of that.

She looked up, face hard. "Yes. I told him to wait, that it was too risky. But Hector was still very angry. He coached Little League in Houston. He knew the boy that died in the house fire. He saw the bodies."

"Oh." I scrunched my eyes closed for a second, warding off the horror. "So what is it you want me to do, exactly?"

"New Mexico is here tonight, with some of his jaguars, the ones Hector was friendly with. They will not tell me where he went, what he planned. But you can find out."

"Okay," I said cautiously. "I can do that."

"Hector thirsts for blood." She looked me right in the eyes. "I encouraged him to walk this path. I need to find him, before–"

"He kills anyone else," I finished grimly.

"Before he gets caught," she corrected.

…

"Why do I always get tangled up in this shit?" I asked plaintively.

Looking over her shoulder as she reversed into the tight parking bay under the hotel, Diantha shrugged awkwardly. "Wrongplacewrongtime."

"Damn straight," I muttered. Just like the poor shifter at the trial last night. No wonder I empathised with him.

Quinn was waiting at the entrance, forehead set in worried wrinkles. Once we'd cleared security he said, "Hey. You okay? I heard you left the building."

"Yep," I said, taking his arm to steer him somewhere quieter.

The wrinkles deepened. "Babe," he said softly. "You need to wash that scent off before sunset."

I groaned. "Thanks, I meant to do it at the restaurant, but..."

"I'da reminded yer before the vamps rose," Diantha said cheerfully, and I realised she'd followed us. Lord, she was sneaky. And nosy.

"Give us a minute will you?" I said.

"Sure, but you're due back soon."

"Won't be a sec."

Quinn and I ducked around a corner and I explained what had happened.

He was not surprised to hear New Mexico was arriving. "I'll come with you. Frannie called. Timas is here too," he said, his face darkening. "And I want a word with him."

Looking out for his sister was great and all, but I sure hoped he wasn't going to stir up more trouble. I gave him a chaste peck on the cheek, and went to wash my face where Niall had kissed me. I'd been gone long enough over my break that I was cringing inside when I walked back into the hub, but Geiszler didn't lay into me for being late, still too awed that I'd had a personal summons from Niall.

Guess name-dropping an ex-prince was good for something.

So began another spell of prowling the corridors and the back rooms, checking minds for treachery.

A short while later I was called to the eighth floor – where Maude and her husband Wisconsin were quartered – because someone had been seen behaving suspiciously. For some reason Wisconsin's guards were big beefy humans with guns, not twoeys, and they objected to letting Diantha past because she didn't have security id. They weren't the sharpest tools in the tool shed, and I could see we'd get nowhere arguing with them, so I told her to take off.

I already had an idea I was wasting my time up there. Turned out I was right: it was just a Minnesota secretary sneaking into the room of a Wisconsin lawyer for a little fun off the clock. Sneaking because they didn't want the guards or either of their vampire bosses finding out they were having a fling. The secretary was mighty embarrassed when I came a-knockin'.

So was I. She was tied up. Literally. I'd never seen so much rope on one woman. It sure didn't look comfortable to me, but she wasn't complaining.

Guess hotel workers saw that sort of thing all the time.

Explaining to the guards that it was all perfectly innocent was frustrating too. It took a while to penetrate their thick skulls. By the time I radioed Geiszler, I was waiting on the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently.

"Problem on eight is resolved. I repeat resolved," I said. "On my way."

"A-okay. Expect you in ten," he said as the elevator arrived and I stepped forwards without looking, bumping into a woman getting out.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," we both said automatically, sidestepping around each other.

It was such a little thing. We'd touched, briefly, and I got a real clear image: a pair of shoes that she wished were hers.

Red shoes, on feet belonging to a maid who'd just riden the elevator with her. I knew it was a maid, because the image I got came dressed in the right uniform. The maid's hair colour, face, even skin colour – those details were blurry. Only the uniform had registered.

A uniform red shoes were not part of.

By the time I'd reasoned that far, the elevator was closing and I was alone inside. Operating on a hunch, I hit the button for the sixth floor. There'd been another person riding the elevator in her memory, and him I knew. He was one of Russell's Weres. I ducked out on their floor real quick and asked the two guards by the elevator if they'd seen a maid when their colleague got out.

They looked at each other and said no. So she'd gotten off below their floor.

They told me something else too, unwittingly. They were already alert when the elevator opened. They'd heard it coming.

Now, the main wing had two corridors. The little side lobby for the elevators and the main stairwell was near the corner where those two corridor met, and the lobby opened straight onto the longer of the two. No doors. So anybody in either corridor, especially anyone with extra-sensitive hearing, would hear the elevator ping as it arrived. Might even hear it before that.

Acting on instinct again, I turned my radio to silent and took the stairs. My heels clacked on the hard floor of the landing, so I slipped them off, clutching them under my arm as I hurried down two flights of stairs. I would just check one more floor, then I'd radio Geiszler, get him to check the camera in the elevator, see where she got off.

I cast ahead with my mind. No-one was in the side lobby, so I opened the door quietly and slipped out there. I couldn't see down the corridors, or be seen, but I could sure as hell use my telepathy to tell who was around: there were voids in the light-tight rooms, but no breathers about, even in the rooms. It was mostly traders on this floor, which explained the absence of detectable minds – they must be downstairs at the trade fair.

All except one.

A twoey mind, swirling with anticipation, feverish with adrenaline. At the far end of the long corridor, outside the executive suite.

Where were the guards? There should be guards stationed there, twoey guards. Putting my shoes down on the floor, I peeped round the corner. I ducked back quickly.

Shit.

First thing I saw was a trail of discarded clothes and shoes, leading towards me. No sign of the guards, dead or alive, in human-shape or wolf.

Second thing: Red Shoes had wheeled her room service cart right up to the suite door, bold as brass and definitely up to mischief. She was working on the lock, back to me. Why the hell was nobody raising the alarm?

I glanced at the cameras opposite the elevators. A cable dangled from the ceiling, ripped loose.

Oh.

With the camera out Geiszler would send someone to investigate, but until they got here I was it. I crouched low, and risked another look. Red Shoes was still busy. She had long black hair, slicked back in a tight ponytail and secured by one of those embossed leather doohickies, the kind you hold in place with a wooden pin. I could see it against her hair.

Wooden.

A small wooden stake.

I felt her pulse of excitement as the door unlocked. She made to slip inside, tugging the cart awkwardly after her, and I sensed she was going to glance over her shoulder before she did. Ducking back just in time, I clamped my hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp.

My heart lurched, leaden in my chest. A cold sweat began to prickle between my shoulder blades, on the nape of my neck.

Shitshitshit.

For the second time in as many days I'd plunged into a woman's mind and found it full of Eric.

Eric, who'd been at the back of my mind too. Ever since I spoke to Russell's wolves. Since I ran down to this floor, _his_ floor. Since I sensed Red Shoes outside _his_ door. Yes, I knew which suite he was in. Bite me. It was my business to know where the all the royals were.

Red Shoes had been sent to kill him. And she was thinking:_ In and out. Ninety seconds, two minutes tops._

Shitshitshit.

No time. No time to fetch vamps were dead for the day. No-one else was around. It was down to me.

As soon as I heard the door click shut behind her, I was up and moving, fast and quiet, my stocking feet landing lightly on carpet as I flew down the corridor, praying the sound-proofing was as good as the hotel advertised, praying she'd left the door unlocked for a fast getaway.

I slowed as I reached the suite. There were four voids inside, one in each room. I prayed one of them wouldn't wink out of existence in the next two minutes. The woman was over to the left, where the biggest bedroom was.

All of the bedrooms had their own keypad lock. State of the art, Kentucky had boasted, programmable with a code of the guest's choosing. Couldn't be forced or cracked.

The last line of defence between the murderous bitch and her target.

Before I could even begin praying it would hold, I heard her thinking numbers as she typed, reading them off a screen in her hand. Shit. She had the code.

No time.

I turned the handle slowly, eased the door open and stepped inside the suite, with no plan beyond a steely determination to stop her, and nothing to tip things in my favour beyond surprise.

One lone lamp lit the central lounge. She was opening the bedroom door, her cart abandoned beside it, reaching up with one hand to pull that handy mini-stake from her hair.

"No!" I yelled, launching myself across the room.

Everything slowed down.

Her head whipped round, and our eyes met briefly as her hand rose in defensive, clenched tight around the wooden pin.

Such a small piece of wood, to end a thousand years.

For a moment, one joyous moment, I thought she was about to charge me. I had enough time to take in wide almond eyes, an Asian complexion, red lips contorted in a snarl. Then she whirled round and leapt into the dark room behind her, towards the bed.

She was faster than me. Even at full tilt, I only made the doorway in the time it took her to leap across the room and land on her target, straddling the unmoving body in the middle of the bed.

The sheet was draped over it head to toe. Like a shroud, my mind supplied unhelpfully.

Her arms were swinging up, her hands clasped around the wood. As they began their downward plunge, I yelled again, something incoherent and anguished.

…

There was a rush of motion, a blur so fast it barely registered.

Next I knew, Neb was standing at the foot of the empty bed, half-naked, his hand around the assassin's throat. Her feet dangled in mid-air, kicking wildly.

"Neb," I gasped, wrapping my arms around my heaving chest as I sagged against the door. It was okay. No ash. No stake in the heart. No Eric.

The woman scrabbled at the hand round her throat, her movements slowing. She went limp.

"Miss Stackhouse," Neb said calmly as he moved towards me, into the light.

He was naked except for a belted white … skirt? Kilt? And a necklace. One hell of a necklace. A heavy golden collar, carved with symbols, with a jewelled scarab the size of a goose egg dangling from the centre. Looked like it belonged on a mummy.

A three thousand year-old Egyptian vampire was close enough, I reckoned. It suited him.

A titter escaped me. Neb gave me a sharp look as he carried the would-be assassin past me like she weighed nothing, and that scolding glance broke the dam. I bent double, giggling uncontrollably, hysteria bubbling up, taking the adrenaline and fear with it.

Until I caught sight of a pair of shoes, tossed carelessly in the corner. Shoes too big for Neb's slight frame. Straightening up and wiping my eyes, I looked at the bed, with its sheet thrown aside. A rumpled bed, in a room I recognised, from Serena's memories.

I walked out into the lounge and Neb looked up from binding the woman's hands. I said flatly, "That's Eric's room."

"Yes." He stood up and the lamp behind him cast his face in shadow. He stared at me intently, brown eyes devoid of intelligence, deep, unfathomable wells of darkness.

Predator! my instincts screamed. I was suddenly and painfully aware that I was alone, in a room where I shouldn't be, facing a very old vampire.

His voice devoid of emotion Neb asked, "Why are you here?"

I resisted the urge to run, to panic. I licked my lips, my mouth dry. "Neb, look, I didn't have anything to do with–"

He stepped closer, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light. "I know. You were trying to stop her. You yelled."

I gasped. "You heard that?"

"Yes, I was awake," he said absently. "You cried out in fear. For a vampire. Or was it one vampire in particular?"

"How are you awake?" I countered, not acknowledging his question. "It's three hours before sunset."

He tapped the collar. "This is old. And powerful. Like me."

Like him indeed. I swallowed. "You were waiting for her. You knew she was coming."

"Yes. We were warned."

"Who warned you?"

"Hm. You are flashing," he said waving at my belt.

I looked down. My radio was blinking madly. Shit. I was overdue calling in.

"Where are you?" Geiszler barked over the static as soon as I picked up.

"Code red," I answered. That meant a breach. "Camera down on five."

"There is? Fuck."

Shit, he didn't know. Someone must have diverted the feed. "By the elevators," I replied, eyes on Neb, who was watching me placidly. He seemed more himself now, less threatening. I added, "Louisiana's guards are gone too."

"Anyone moving up there that shouldn't be?" Geiszler asked.

Neb put his finger to his lips and shook his head. The assassin was definitely not moving, now or for a while, so I guessed I could go along with it.

"No," I said, wincing at the tiny white lie. I could hear Geiszler barking instructions, on the move himself.

"Stay put," he ordered. "Don't move from those elevators, you hear? Team's on its way. ETA five, repeat five minutes."

"Yessir," I signed off.

Damn. Now I was knee-deep in shit. If Quinn heard I'd confronted an assassin alone, he'd have a fit.

But it was worse than that.

Some of the security guys hung out with Quinn. In fact, I think he'd asked a couple of them to look out for me. It had been them he was thinking of that morning, ribbing him about Eric. So Quinn would hear about it if I was found in Eric's rooms. Lord knew how he'd react if he knew it was Eric I'd rushed to protect.

I was heading for a major freak out about that myself.

Jealousy I could account for, the urgent need to save Eric's life… Was something I couldn't afford to think about right now. I had to go, the security team couldn't find me here.

There was just one loose end. A big blond one. I eyed Neb. "I don't suppose you could forget I was ever here?"

"Is it Eric you wish to hide this from, or your tiger?" he asked, face smooth again, cool marble.

With a sigh I admitted, "Both."

"I will have to tell Eric."

Well, that just wouldn't do. Eric would find a way to tell Quinn, to gloat, I just knew it. I narrowed my eyes. "I know what that necklace can do. How about I keep your secret, you keep mine?"

"I cannot. Eric will know you were here." He tapped his nose.

Damn, damn, damn.

"But there is a way round that," he said thoughtfully. "Come back, interrogate the assassin for me. That will explain your scent."

I looked at the unconscious woman, and groaned. "Fine. But I need to leave right now. Wait – won't the twoey guards notice?"

"I doubt it," he said, smiling faintly. "Only Jephson will come in here. Intercept him, and all will be well. He won't know you came running to the rescue. I will keep your secret."

"Right. Okay." I hustled to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. "Where is Eric anyway?"

"Across the hall in a coffin. And quite unhappy about it." He smiled fully then, his eyes warm, and I got a glimpse of the man he'd been underneath the weight of his millennia. "I thought I might have to knock him out."

I cracked a smile despite myself. "Yeah, he hates slumming it in those things."


	33. Clean up on the Fifth Floor

Hi all. This chapter was a bear! I did a lot of chopping and changing, so let me know if I missed any typos. Thanks as always for the comments.

* * *

**Clean Up on the Fifth Floor**

* * *

The corridor was deserted and my abandoned shoes were right where I left them. I slipped them on just as Diantha came out of the stairwell.

"Can't leave you alone for a second," she said cheerfully.

"I was fine," I said huffily as the elevator pinged. The security team spilt out of it, lead by Geiszler himself.

I was gesturing up at the damaged camera when Jephson arrived from the direction of the back stairs, with four of those missing guards. Two of them were lugging an unconscious twoey and his was the only brain I could sense. All the Louisiana guards had those damn necklaces on. It was irritating as hell.

Geiszler, already on edge, turned to bark at them, "What the hell happened?"

"Could ask you the same," Jephson said tersely. "This fucker and his buddies lured my guards away so an assassin could get into the Louisiana suite."

Geiszler swore under his breath.

"Don't sweat it," Jephson said. "We were ready for them."

"No-one hurt?" Geiszler asked gruffly.

"None of ours. Be real interested to know how the assassin got a maid's uniform though, and how she cracked the locks."

Geiszler swore again, louder. "Someone messed with the cameras too. I need to interrogate them, find out how they got past the system."

"This one and the assassin are ours, least until the vamps rise. But help yourself to the small fry we left hog-tied on the back stairs. Word of warning: they're wearing a real strong cologne. If you get my drift."

"Goddamnit." Geiszler reached for his radio, and barked out an order to seal off the stairwell. "Where's the assassin?"

"In the suite. No offence, but you ain't going in there." Jephson nodded at me. "The lady I'll allow though, long as she shares any information she ferrets out. Win-win for both of us."

Diantha stepped forward.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," Jephson said. "Just her. You're staying right here."

Diantha glowered at him, but I waved her back. "It's okay, Diantha. Nobody's moving in there."

"Yep," Jephson agreed, cracking a smile. "Assassin's out cold. She'll be fine."

Diantha wasn't happy, but she didn't argue beyond muttering, "On your head be it."

Geiszler was sure his job was on the line or he would've refused to let me go without my shadow. He growled at Jephson, "Keep her in one piece, or I'll take it out of your hide."

"I will," Jephson said, looking him in the eye.

Geiszler weighed him up silently for a moment. "Alright. Sookie, find out everything you can."

"Sure thing," I said, patting my boss on the arm. "Don't worry, I know this guy. I'll be fine."

Besides, Neb wanted my help. I was safe with him.

As we headed down the corridor, Jephson barked orders at his wolves: "You two, take that piece of shit into your room, hose him down and sit on him. You two, wait here. Make sure we're not interrupted."

They snapped to it.

Outside the suite, I faked a shocked look as if I'd just cottoned on that there was a vampire up and about in there. Jephson fiddled with something at his neck and his mind winked into existence, a warm red knot besides me. _Don't panic. Don't tell anyone what you see inside. _"Alright?" he said out loud.

"Sure," I replied. Jephson gave me a lopsided grin and I followed him inside, ready to interrogate the bitch who'd ruined my afternoon.

The lights were on. Neb was over by the room service cart, rummaging through an open holdall on top of it. I didn't think the dress spilling out of it was his colour.

Sure matched those red shoes though.

He might look less odd in a dress than the sweats he'd put on. He certainly didn't look like he'd walked off a wall in Pharaoh's tomb now. I could still make out the outline of that bulky collar under his top too, and it didn't do anything for his ensemble.

Jephson locked the door behind us and announced, "Miss Stackhouse here agreed to help." He flicked that damn necklace back on too.

Neb looked up just in time to catch my annoyed grimace. "Anyone hurt?"

"Nope. Yuri only brought two Weres. Damn insulting," Jephson grumbled as he pulled wads of something flesh-coloured out of his nostrils.

"Oh," I said, as it dawned on me why Neb was so sure none of the Weres would pick up on my scent.

"Filters," Jephson explained, rubbing his nose. "For that damn cologne."

"I'm guessing it wasn't Paco Rabanne," I said, with a questioning look.

"Nope. Something a witch brewed up. To make my guys crazed enough to desert their posts. Like catnip for werewolves, clumsy but effective. It's lucky we were warned."

Neb waved him over and he took over searching the bag while Neb went to check the unconscious assassin. Jephson lifted up a gadget with wires hanging out of it, something like a card reader, and frowned at it. "What the fuck is this?"

"No idea," I said, recognising the screen that had given the assassin the code for Eric's room. But I wasn't supposed to know that.

He shook his head. "She sure brought a nifty bag of tricks."

"She's coming round," Neb said, pulling the twoey woman upright on the couch.

"Let's get this show on the road then," I said, going over.

Her mind was foggy, even when I touched her arm. Jephson cussed softly in the background, moving things around on the cart as Neb sat on the couch and whispered in the woman's ear, too quietly for me to hear more than a soft hypnotic susurrus.

Whatever he said, the images I was getting sharpened.

"I see a key, a locker. A bag stuffed with money. She was paid a million dollars," I said quietly. I didn't think that would be enough, given the consequences. Eric was going to be furious. "Half up front, half later. I see the number she has to call." I recited the digits.

"Untraceable, I expect," Neb said in an equally hushed voice and whispered in her ear again.

I closed my eyes and watched through hers as she entered the hotel earlier today, spotting her contact at the trade fair. He hurried past her without a glance, dropping a crumpled napkin under one of the tables. She walked past and snagged it, glancing at the number scrawled on it: 457.

I recognised the contact, even though she didn't see his face.

"Finch," I breathed. I wasn't even shocked. Staking an opponent while he was dead for the day was exactly the sort of cowardice I expected from that devious snake Bardulf. I was offended on Eric's behalf. He deserved to go down fighting.

"You know Finch?" Neb asked sharply. "Tennessee's man?"

Opening my eyes I found the Egyptian was on his feet, eyes drilling into mine. Feeling like a bug under a very powerful magnifying glass I straightened up, my hand slipping from the woman's arm. Her mind was clearing, but you don't ignore the focused scrutiny of a three thousand year old vampire.

"Someone told Pam that this Finch was asking about Eric," Neb said slowly. "Someone here, at the summit. Pam wouldn't say who." He paused. "A friend to Eric perhaps."

I held his eyes and made sure my voice was firm. "A friend to Pam."

Then several things happened real fast: the assassin's mind spiked with fear and urgency; I heard a wet crunch; Neb, struck faster than a snake, pushing me aside as he pounced on the woman, wrenching her jaw open with a snap; and Jephson leapt over the couch with a yell, catching me and pulling me clear.

The assassin grimaced at Neb and gave a hoarse, gasping laugh as I got a strong pulse of defiance and relief from her. Neb hissed and peered into her mouth, inhaling audibly.

"Cyanide. Ah, too late! Already swallowed." He said something harsh in another language as her body convulsed, arching under him once before she slumped like a sack of potatoes, her mind already fading. Neb pulled her off the couch and laid her on the rug, swiping her eyes shut.

"Oh my God," I gasped, staring down at her pinking cheeks in horror. She looked younger in death, her face relaxing, pretty now it didn't bear the snarl of a killer. "Why would she–?"

Jephson let go of me and said gruffly, "Because she expected to be tortured."

"Yes. She chose a clean death," Neb said, looking down at her, his voice as stone-cold as a tomb. "Shame we weren't finished with her. What did you find, wolf?"

"A change of clothes, a wig, cash, a bus ticket. Looks like she planned a quick exit. No ID, of course. Two fancy gizmos. Best I can tell, one to override the locks, and another to interfere with the cameras."

"A professional then." Neb looked at me. "Did you get anything else?"

I tore my eyes from the body, took a deep breath and blew it out. "Finch didn't speak to her. He just passed her a room number."

"457." Jephson shrugged when I looked at him in surprise. "Yuri had the room key on him."

"He was staying here?" I said, aghast. How hadn't I noticed? That was our floor, the other end of it, where Kentucky's donors were. Geiszler was going to hit the roof.

"Maybe, maybe not. There were women's clothes in the closet. What now, Neb?"

"Do we have Finch?" he asked as my eyes were drawn back to the body on the floor. She seemed smaller. So still. I barely heard Jephson's answer.

"Yep. He's been at the trade fair all afternoon. Sebastian didn't see anything out of the usual, not until Finch headed for his room about ten minutes ago. Some coincidence, huh? Sebastian has the little runt stashed out the way."

Neb nodded and turned to me. "Perhaps Miss Stackhouse might make allowances for my unforgivable lapse of attention, and generously agree to read someone else for us?"

"What if this Yuri has cyanide too?" I murmured, still staring at the body. I'd never get used to seeing death up close and personal.

"No, not the bear. Finch."

"I don't..." I stopped mid-refusal. Here was my chance to get a look in that weasel's head. I said slowly, "There's just one problem. I can't get a clear read on Finch. He's been glamoured to repeat a list over and over as soon as he sees me."

"Has he now. That is intriguing," Neb said thoughtfully. "Someone meant to guard their secrets."

"That's what I reckoned."

"Then I must beg your help. It is likely Finch will not divulge anything to me either, not unless I reduce his mind to pulp."

I grimaced, remembering that guy from the bar in Dallas. "There's a way to stop your glamour working?"

"Ways to interfere with it, yes. Make it more likely something will be missed. That is what makes you so valuable to us."

"Not if I all I hear is a grocery list," I pointed out.

"I believe I can get round that. Will you do it?"

"Okay, I'll give it a shot. _If_ you give Geiszler that lot." I pointed at the cart with my chin. If I seemed too eager, Neb might wonder why. "He needs to know how she cracked the locks."

"Done. Jephson, see the cart gets to Geiszler. Bring Finch here."

…

Once we were alone Neb said, "You bargain well on Kentucky's behalf, considering you do not wish to work for vampires."

"That was for Geiszler," I admitted. "He looks out for me."

"That is good, having a colleague you trust."

"I guess you trust Jephson. He's the only one who knows you're awake?"

Neb nodded. "But he cannot tell anyone."

I frowned. "You glamoured him? I thought twoeys were immune."

"Not … entirely."

"You got a necklace for that too?" I asked, jokingly.

"No," he said solemnly. "I am ancient and the wolf agreed to it. So really it is he who trusts me."

"Oh. I see."

He smiled faintly. "You were annoyed when he blocked you from his mind."

"Yes, it felt a little … unfriendly. But I get it. He has no reason to trust me."

"Yes. Jephson takes his work seriously. Most ex-wives … care less about what happens to their former husbands."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever happened between us in the past, I don't wish Eric dead."

He smiled fully, his eyes dancing with mirth. "I noticed that."

I looked away, my cheeks warming. My gut-wrenching panic, the rush to save Eric – it confused the heck out of me, but I couldn't deny it.

And there was no blood bond to explain it this time.

Clearing my throat, I gave him a sideways look. "You know I can't be glamoured, right?"

"Yes." He waved me to the couch.

"So … you trust me to keep quiet?" I said doubtfully as I sat down.

"I do not think you mean me harm. And I hear you keep your word." He was moving furniture, turning an armchair to face the door, putting a table and lamp beside it. "Pam speaks highly of you."

"She does?" I hadn't been the best friend to her lately, but finding out who tried to kill her maker might go a long way towards mending that bridge. "I guess y'all have an idea who's behind this. Care to share with the class?"

"Eric fired the bear in December, and Yuri washed up in Nevada."

"Oh." My money had been on Bardulf. "So you think it was Felipe."

"Yes. But others may be involved and I wish to be certain. Will you need to touch him?"

"Finch? No, he's an easy read when he's not reciting that damn list."

He looked towards the door. "They are coming. Stay still and do not speak."

In a flash, he had all the lights off except the one by the armchair, which he sat down in, adjusting the lamp so it shone on him, leaving me and the rest of the room in darkness. When Jephson frogmarched Finch in, Neb was the first thing he saw. Neb's eyes flared a deep, warm brown and I felt the slackness in Finch's mind as his glamour took hold.

"Look only at me," Neb said, his voice richer, deeper. "I am the only one here. You will see and hear no-one else."

Oh, I saw what he was doing. Finch hadn't seen me, just like in the café. Bardulf's little trick wasn't so clever now. I smiled at Neb to let him know it was working.

"How do you know this woman?" Neb said, gesturing at the stiffening body at his feet. "You passed her a room number."

"Told to look for a girl in a red dress, tell her where her friends were, so they could party. That's all. Don't know who she is, just another whore," Finch said defiantly.

"No. She was here to kill Louisiana. You knew that." Neb spoke softly but insistently, his face bright in the lamplight as he pressed into Finch's mind.

"Yes," Finch slurred, swaying a little as Jephson let go of him and moved out of the way.

Neb pushed harder. "Why did you help her? On whose orders?"

"Money. For money. Got paid a cool fifty grand. It was…" I felt the snap, the resistance in his mind as he struggled to speak, the split between his thoughts and his words. "Nevada."

Nevada, Nevada… I chased the echo into his memory:

_Bardulf, at his desk in his office. Clarabel was there, saying, "I don't trust Nevada."_

"_Neither do I, but ending Northman will weaken Bartlett's group. And that is essential to my plans." Bardulf tapped his lips, frowning. "I will help Felipe hunt his quarry, but I must be careful. Keep my hands clean."_

_Clarabel's face pinched tight. "You think he is setting you up to take the blame?"_

"_Perhaps. I wouldn't put anything past dear old Felipe. But if we make sure all roads lead to Vegas… Hm. It might be the perfect opportunity to clear house."_

Bardulf's eyes fell on Finch and the memory fizzled out. Neb had been right, Finch was resisting his glamour. I shook my head at the ancient Egyptian and his mouth tightened.

Holding Finch's eyes and his will Neb said, "You have been asking about Louisiana. Why?"

"'Sposed to find out when he was vulnerable, 'bout his guards. So forth. But none of 'em would talk."

There was no hesitation, no resistance this time, so I figured that was the unvarnished truth. At least Eric's guys were loyal. I gave Neb a cautious nod.

"What else did you do?" Neb asked.

"Found a room for her friends. Like Nevada asked."

A memory came in loud and clear: _Finch working a stall at the trade fair, serving a dark-haired guy. "You ship to Alaska, right?" the guy asked, eyes darting around the room._

"_Only once in a blue moon," Finch replied nonchalantly as he rang up the guy's purchases._

_The guy lowered his voice. "There'll be a blood moon rising soon."_

_Finch recognised the code phrase. Out of sight, under the table, he slipped a room key out of his pocket and into the bag with the guy's purchases. Handing it over the table he said, "Happy hunting."_

Looked like Yuri and his friends had slipped into the hotel this afternoon. Made sense – with all the other twoeys coming in for the trade fair, a few extra wouldn't raise a flag. But how did Finch get that key? It wasn't his, he was on the ninth floor – I'd checked after our earlier run-in. Maybe the donor whose room it was leant it to him?

Wishing I'd thought to grab a pen and paper to direct the questioning, I nodded reluctantly and Neb moved on to his next question. "Did Tennessee want Northman ended?"

Finch opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head. "No. It was Nevada. De Castro hired me."

His thoughts said something else. I held up a hand for Neb to wait.

_A dimly lit room. Finch trying to melt into the background, Clarabel sitting primly on that white couch._

_Bardulf was pacing. He hissed angrily. "First Nadia is ended, her scheme in ruins – and don't tell me Northman wasn't up to his fangs in that fiasco – and now this! This is rank interference. Special Events was mine!"_

_Clarabel licked her lips and said cautiously, "You think Northman has that much influence in the Old World?"_

"_No, but Indiana does. Curse Northman and his fucking allies." With a growl Bardulf snatch up a table and hurled at the wall. It splintered with a loud crash and he bellowed, "Will no-one rid me of this turbulent Viking?"*_

_Clarabel shifted slightly but didn't answer._

"_Oh, don't worry Clara dear," he said sarcastically. "I don't expect you to risk your neck on a suicide mission. But mark my words, this is the last time that wanker derails my plans. An opportunity to strike will present itself and Northman will be ash."_

Dropping my hand, I gave Neb the firmest nod I could. He didn't look the slightest bit surprised, and was ready with: "What does Bardulf think of Eric Northman?"

The more open question didn't seem to trigger as much resistance. Neb was a clever guy.

"He doesn't think much of him," Finch said, a jumble of images flitting through his befuddled mind before one came over as clear as bell. Finch was driving, watching in the mirror as Bardulf, in the back, spoke into his phone. It took a moment to realise what was familiar about him: Bardulf was wearing the outfit he wore the night Niall told him he couldn't touch me.

"_Fucking fairies. I have an itch to drain a dozen of the arrogant bastards dry." Bardulf licked his lips, and snorted at the unheard reply. "Always looking for the silver lining, aren't you chuck? There is that, Northman can't get his fangs into her either. If this was his doing, he's cut his nose off to spite me."_

_He snorted again at whatever the other person said. "Yes, poor strategy indeed, throwing his weight around with me like a possessive newborn. Nadia told me he was obsessed with her, but I didn't quite…" He listened for a moment and laughed, throwing his head back, his shoulders shaking. "Yes, the speed she fled his state must stick in his craw after he gave up a century for her. He's a fool. And honourable fools are always shocked by betrayal."_

Oh yeah? Eric was ten times the vampire Bardulf was. The indignant thought caught me off guard, and then I register Bardulf's last word.

Wait, what betrayal? I was heartily sick of being cast as the bad guy where Eric was concerned. _He_ left _me_. If he'd chosen to protect me from other vampires when he did – yes, that was honourable and yes, I was grateful – but it didn't mean I owed him anything else. There'd been nothing between us for years. I had to live my life, Eric told me that himself. What did Bardulf know about it anyway?

_Sobering at what he heard next Bardulf said, "Yes, the lass certainly leads a charmed life. Which makes me wonder…" His eyebrows raised. "Dangerous? How sweet – you're concerned. But I doubt that. Whatever the link to Brigant, she's only a drop of the fae about her. Hardly above the cattle."_

Asshole.

_He scowled. "Yes, I couldn't believe my luck. She would have been the perfect tool for my plans. If it weren't for Brigant's interference…" He listened for a long time. "Yes, Northman is slipping. He made a mistake letting the tiger back in. The lass is a weakness I could exploit, but I doubt Northman will last out the year." He paused. "Yes, that's the question of the hour, how loyal she is. Quinn may be the leverage I need. I will bide my time there."_

Lucky me, Bardulf still wanted a telepath. He ended the call, and I gestured for Neb to move on with a grimace, a barb of guilt pricking at me. Bardulf and Eric would probably be at loggerheads regardless, but I couldn't shake the feeling I was partly to blame.

"What does Tennessee hope to gain from Eric's death? What does he want?" Neb asked. He was getting the hang of this.

Finch's mind skittered on the edge of resistance as he muttered, "What does any vamp want? Power. Influence. Get rid of a threat. Hurt an enemy before he hurts you."

In his head, I saw Clarabel and Bardulf, on that white couch again, both pink from recent feeding.

"_See Clara? A little patience and I get everything I want," Bardulf said smugly. He was shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned. "Northman gone, Mississippi weakened, and the telepath."_

_Clarabel wiped blood off her chin with a linen napkin, dabbed at a spot on her silk robe. "What about Brigant?"_

"_He indulges the lass, lets her run with the beasts," Bardulf said, stroking his bare stomach lazily. "If I play it right, ensure she _wants_ to work for me, I fancy he'll not stop her."_

"_So Quinn is our hook? You're sure?"_

"_Oh yes," he said with satisfaction, smacking his bloody lips. "She agreed to work for Kentucky, didn't she? All it took was a few vague threats to the tiger. Blackmail will work even better."_

Oh-oh. Stomach sinking, I held up my hand to stop Neb interrupting and held my breath, expecting a mention of André any second.

"_The mere mention of that bitch LeClerq, and the lass got very twitchy." Bardulf's voice deepened with menace. "You should've seen it, Clara. It was beautiful."_

_She frowned. "She did? But why? Because the tiger betrayed LeClerq to de Castro?"_

"_Oh no, petal. I have a brand new theory."_

_He paused dramatically, and she purred, "Do tell, my liege."_

Here it came.

"_Northman never trusted Quinn. I'd lay good money the tiger was only good for information on New Orleans. But our caped crusader is a clever sod, he'd never leave a takeover to chance. And our tasty telepath had plenty of information on the Sheriff of Area 5."_

"_Oh," she breathed. "She was working for Felipe too."_

What the hell? Geez, Bardulf was such an effing twisty snake, he couldn't conceive of anyone else being loyal. But what about André, didn't he–?

"_Oh, indeed." He smiled, fangs down. "It makes sense, doesn't it? I wouldn't be surprised if the tiger and the telepath were Felipe's long before Rhodes. Awfully convenient that the lass didn't stop the bombing."_

"_But she raised the alarm, searched the ruins for survivors."_

"_Only at the last minute. And just who she was searching for? Sophie Ann is lucky her lawyer got her out."_

"_Oh," Clarabel sighed, eyes widening. "Yes, a perfect time to stake her. What was one more ash stain."_

A tiny niggle began to itch at me, but I squelched it. I needed to hear this.

"_Quite. Calls André's death into question too, not that it matters now. One murder pales in comparison to letting those bombs go off. Explains why our lass was so twitchy, doesn't it? A massacre like that on her conscience."_

Sweet merciful Lord, Bardulf was so far from the truth it wasn't even remotely funny.

"_Yes, it does. I wonder how Felipe got to her."_

"_Through Quinn I imagine, or by offering to free her of Northman and his blood. Apparently they were bonded at one point."_

"_Really. Why wasn't she his creature?"_

"_She can't be glamoured. There is something about her that resists us." His eyes glittered with malice. "Something I will enjoy crushing."_

_Clara's fangs dropped. "I will enjoy that too."_

I held back a shudder, reminding myself I was safe under Niall's protection.

"_I'm sure you will, petal." Bardulf smirked at her fondly. "The lass has been Quinn's all along, I'm sure of it. She was his first, before she was Northman's, you know. And the tiger fetched her barely a month after she divorced the other one, the shifter. That screams premeditated to me."_

"_Why not reclaim her when de Castro took Louisiana?"_

"_I imagine Felipe wanted her close to Northman, as his eyes and ears. Probably used the tiger to ensure her co-operation. And later, when Northman left for Oklahoma, Felipe probably kept her in Area 5 to spy on Northman's child. They were close once, but I have it on good authority Ravenscroft stayed away from her. Not as foolish as her maker, that one."_

What? That was just ridiculous. Bardulf could sure spin a tiny grain of truth into a wild fantasy. Could vampires get delusional? That was one tall tale he was weaving.

_Clarabel's smile was chilling. "And when Northman took Louisiana back for Amun, Felipe's had a spy still in place."_

"_But our lass had a plan. Rumour has it she went AWOL around the time Brigant turned up again, like a bad fucking penny. Maybe she did him a favour. And viola, she calls it in when she joins Quinn here in Memphis."_

"_Very convenient," Clara said sourly._

"_Yes. She has an uncanny ability to land in shit and come up smelling of roses, but she won't wriggle out of it this time. The tiger's hatred for Northman is well known. No-one will doubt he had a hand in ending him."_

_Clarabel laughed, an ugly sound. "Not with the evidence you're cooking up. Quinn will have to heel."_

Oh shit.

"_Oh, his leash will be tight, I assure you. And I'll have my telepath."_

"_As long as she's loyal to Quinn."_

This pair wouldn't know loyalty if it bit them on the ass.

_He shrugged. "Even if she has some lingering affection for Northman, he'll be gone. I very much doubt Brigant will care to in-debt himself to me for a fur-ball. The tricky minx won't have anywhere to turn, and only herself to offer to save Quinn."_

"_It's a good plan. And if Felipe fails to end Northman?"_

_Bardulf grinned, teeth stained red. "We threaten to turn the evidence over to Northman himself, and Quinn still has to heel. Win-win. Plus I get the pleasure of telling Eric his precious telepath was betraying him all along."_

"_That would be just delicious," she purred, licking her fang seductively. "Shall we celebrate?"_

Finch's memory played on but I quit giving it my full attention. I was furious. Bardulf thought I was a shallow, deceitful, murdering – of all the – the son of a bitch!

I took a gulp of air to calm myself, and realised Neb and Jephson were both watching me. My hands were clenched, and I hoped my face hadn't given too much away. I got hold of myself, forcing my hands to relax and closed my eyes to think.

Okay. So Bardulf had no concrete knowledge of André's death. Good. But what he was planning to do to Quinn was ten times worse than what we'd feared. Framing Quinn, after the way he'd had been with Eric, in front of witness too…

It'd be his mom and the pits all over again. Bardulf would own him.

Damn it all to hell! By coming here, I'd made Quinn a bigger target for that bastard. Thank God I found out now. Thank God Neb had taken Eric's place.

Not that Quinn would see it that way.

Should I tell Neb Bardulf was gonna frame Quinn? I wasn't sure Neb really trusted me. Would he think I was just covering for Quinn?

Would Eric?

Eric wouldn't for one second believe I'd been spying for Felipe, he knew me too well. But Quinn… Oh, Eric would be only too happy to believe anything of Quinn. Not that it would be much of a stretch to believe he'd had a hand in this.

No. I couldn't risk telling Neb or Eric, not if I had a choice.

I'd deal with this myself. Find the 'evidence', get rid of it. But how? I didn't even know what it was. Maybe Finch knew… I tuned back in to him.

Ugh. He was watching Bardulf and Clarabel gettin' their freak on with some donors, lost in his own perverted fantasies. That was just disgusting.

Then I got real lucky. Finch had a stray thought that gave me just what I needed.

…

"There, he won't remember this and no-one will suspect he's been glamoured at this hour," Neb said as Finch's eyes closed and his breathing evened out. "What did you find?"

"It was Felipe," I said. "But Bardulf helped out. He anticipated Felipe pinning it on him so I don't know that you'll find any evidence of that."

Neb eyed the sleeping Finch. "This is his man."

"That little shit would work for the highest bidder," Jephson said derisively. "Be pretty easy to make it look like Felipe bought him off."

"Did anyone see him come in here?" Neb asked thoughtfully. Jephson shook his head. "Then we should return him to his room so Tennessee is none the wiser." Neb turned to me. "If you wouldn't mind keeping his name out of this for now, Sookie."

"I guess." All Finch did was a little spying and passing on that room key. Besides, that suited me just fine. I didn't want Bardulf to know I'd broken through that glamour and found his dirty laundry.

Neb eyed me curiously. "You were unsettled while you were reading him."

"He's an unsavoury man," I said dryly.

"Hm." He didn't sound convinced, but I wasn't spilling. "What else did you get?"

"Something about Eric's death weakening Indiana's group and furthering Bardulf's plans for Mississippi. Seemed a mite personal too. Bardulf was real mad about someone, he thought it was Indiana, interfering in Special Events. Something about Nadia – that's the late queen of Alabama right? – and Eric spoiling her plans. And–" I sighed heavily. "And Bardulf wants me too."

"Ah. So you got something out of this too."

I had, but that wasn't it. "Like I didn't know Bardulf was itchin' to get his fangs in me."

Jephson chuckled. "Something tells me that won't be as easy as he thinks."

"Nope. Sure won't." Bardulf was gonna learn that two could play dirty. "Oh, Finch was the one that snuck Yuri and his friends that room key."

"No shit," Jephson grunted. "Yuri couldn't find his own ass with both hands. Had to be someone helping them."

"Yes. This one," Neb nudged the body with his foot casually, "was skilled though. Felipe pays for the best."

"Was Yuri really that stupid?" I said slowly, an idea forming.

"Yep," Jephson said. "Can't imagine Nevada sticking his neck out to protect him, probably set him up as the fall guy."

"I think Felipe had more help than just Bardulf."

Neb cocked his head. "Go on."

"Did y'all notice how quiet it is on this floor?"

Jephson frowned. "Yeah. But the traders are busy today."

"The fourth floor, where Yuri was hidin' out, is mostly Kentucky's donors and a few of us in security. It's real quiet today too. Know why?" They looked at me expectantly. "Kentucky rewarded all the donors with a spa day."

Neb pondered that for a moment. "Perhaps Bardulf knew that. He is close to Kentucky."

"Is Kentucky known for his generosity?" I asked dubiously. "That's too much of a coincidence for me. And she," I waved at the body without looking at it, "knew how to hack the cameras, and the doors. That needs some knowledge of the hotel."

"You may be right," Neb said grimly.

"And then I was out of the way, up on the eighth floor while all this was going down."

Neb and Jephson exchanged a look. "Why the eighth floor?" Jephson asked.

"Well, one of Maude's secretaries, a human, she … Well, I didn't get anything suspicious from her. But Wisconsin's lawyer was involved, and I don't know about him. I can't read demons."

"Ah. Wisconsin." Neb nodded. "That leads back to Felipe."

"It does? Wish somebody told me these things," Jephson said snidely. "I'm only putting my neck on the line. Coulda guessed though. Wisconsin wasn't too charitable towards Eric at that bitch's trial."

Which trial? Which bitch? If only he wasn't wearing that necklace. Damn, I wasn't used to being in the dark.

"Thank you, Sookie," Neb said, standing up. "Your help has been invaluable. I will be sure no blame falls on you or Geiszler when Kentucky hears of this."

"Thanks, that would be great. Speaking of which, I should get back downstairs."

With a twinkle in his eye he added, "I'm sure Eric will appreciate your help too."

I didn't dignify that with a response beyond a sharp look. Eric didn't need my help, he had plenty of it from his loyal retinue.

It was Quinn who needed my help, and he was the one I should be concerned about. He was my boyfriend.

…

Back in the hub Geiszler was worrying himself greyer by the second, looking over that room service cart with one of the tech guys. "This is a clusterfuck," he said when he saw me.

"Tell me about it. Didn't get much off the assassin. She's dead. Cyanide."

"She's Louisiana's problem then. Died in their custody."

I looked at the dress and the wig. "She sure would've looked different in that."

"Yeah. Real noticeable too, like she was taunting us," he said bitterly. "Looks like she diverted the feed from all the cameras on the fifth floor. We were blind."

Something didn't add up there. "Why rip out the camera by the elevators then?"

"My guess, it was the one she couldn't avoid. The cameras have their own built-in storage. Just a few minutes, but we might be able to retrieve something from the others."

"Oh. Maybe it would've shown her leavin' the scene in that wig too."

"Maybe." He rubbed his face, worrying about Kentucky's reaction, scared he'd lose more than his pension over this.

I leaned a little closer to him and said quietly, "Hey, Isaiah might not be as mad as you think."

He turned to look at me for a long second. "That mean what I think it means?"

I nodded.

He sighed bleakly. "Sookie, that ain't the good news you think it is. He'll come down on me like a tonne of bricks to deflect any suspicion."

"Oh damn. I didn't think of that."

"Yeah, well. It was a nice thought." He brightened a little. "Maybe I won't end up in a ditch though, if he had a hand in it."

A cheer went up from the tech guys. They'd recovered footage of Yuri and his henchmen arriving on the fifth floor and all hell breaking loose with Jephson's wolves.

Geiszler patted them on the back, and then dampened their mood. "Go through all of today's footage. Trace their movements. Sookie, you know what the assassin looks like. Find her too."

I sat down at the bank of monitors, and began searching. Diantha sat herself down beside me and I was grateful for the extra pair of eyes. It was a tedious job. Half an hour later, my eyes gritty and strained, we'd found all we could. Which wasn't much.

The shifter assassin was elusive. Sure, the cameras caught her at the trade fair, bold as brass in that red dress and an auburn wig, but she kept her head down, and we didn't have a good shot of her face. If she'd gotten clean away identifying her would have been tricky.

After that we lost her, up until right before the attack when she reappeared dressed as a maid and pushing that cart onto an elevator on the fourth floor, keeping her back to the camera and her head down.

There was nothing of her on Eric's floor, nothing of her breaking into his room.

But we had plenty on Yuri and his friends: milling around at the trade fair for quarter of an hour or so, just long enough for the dark-haired one to make contact with Finch, and all three of them entering the dead girl's room around two o'clock.

Looked like Felipe meant to leave Yuri twisting in the wind.

What puzzled me was that we had no footage of them leaving room 457, or the assassin meeting them there. I could only conclude that the cameras on that floor had been messed with too. The tech boys had a look at it and agreed. Geiszler was pissed all over again that someone had sliced through the protections on the system so easily.

His mood soured even further when the Weres sent to find the donor whose room it was was came back empty-handed.

The girl hadn't turned up at the spa that morning. Her friends thought she was sleeping in after hooking up with some guy the night before, but her bed hadn't been slept in. Before Geiszler had time to organise a search for her, we got a panicked call that threw the hub into chaos.

A maid had found a girl, stuffed in a janitor's closet on the first floor. Dead.

Ten to one she was our donor.

Geiszler asked me to tag along so I could check the maid who found her had nothing to do with any of this. We were about to leave when Quinn arrived. Seeing him filled me with a mixture of dread and guilt, not the rush of happiness you'd expect from seeing a beau.

Geiszler looked between us and sighed. "You've got two minutes, Sookie. Catch us up."

I ushered Quinn back out of the hub as he said, "What's up babe? It's a zoo in there."

He hadn't heard. I said grimly, "It's only gonna get worse at sunset. Someone tried to stake Eric."

"Really?" His mind pulsed with savage amusement. "Where do I send the medal?"

"Quinn! This isn't funny."

"You know how I feel about him. Can't tell me the fucker would shed a tear over me."

"Maybe not, but it was a major security breach. Geiszler's frantic and it looks bad on me too."

He shrugged. "If it was another deader that tried to off him, no-one will blame you. Something always goes down at these things. Know who it was yet?"

"Felipe. But look…" I dragged him further down the corridor, away from the hub. "We've got trouble."

"Over this?" He scowled. _How the hell is it anything to do with us?_

Making sure no-one was in earshot, I lowered my voice. "Because Bardulf is going to make it our problem. He's involved, and he plans to frame you. I don't know how."

"Ah, hell."_ I played right into his hands, challenging Northman. __Motherfucking__ bloodsuckers._

"Oh hell is right," I said grimly. "But don't worry. I have a plan."

"You do?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, so don't do anything crazy." He opened his mouth to ask a question, but I held up my hand. "I'll tell you all about it later. Right now I need you to do something. I can't get away, but you can. Get up to our room, check no-one's planted anything incriminating there."

"Okay. I'll be back as soon as I can." Feeling better with a task to complete, he hugged me once, real quick. _This is my fault. I'll deal with it. Keep Diantha close._

"Will do. And Quinn?" I grabbed his arm as he turned to go. "We're a team. We're in this together. Right?"

"Right. Thanks, babe," he said gratefully.

Diantha was waiting around the corner, and gave no sign that she's heard our conversation. We caught up with Geiszler in a back corridor, the men he'd brought stationed at either end of it, turning nosy bystanders away. The maid was hysterical, babbling in Spanish, and gesturing wildly at an open closet.

Geiszler looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Good grief. The poor woman clearly had nothing to do with this. I went straight over and put my arms round her, hushing her as I tugged her away. She'd had a terrible shock, and reading her was awful.

She was better off than the donor though. Poor girl, the bruising round her wrists… I saw enough in the maid's head that I had no intention of looking at the body for real. I was hanging back with Diantha, numb from consoling the maid, when Quinn arrived. Geiszler was examining the body on his own. There was nothing I could read from it.

"Hey babe," Quinn said, taking my hand_. Drew a blank. Nothing out of place. No-one has been in our room but us._

"Damn," I said softly. "It's gonna be a long night." Quinn was a worried as I was. What the hell did Bardulf have on him?

Geiszler announced, "She's been tied up, strangled. Most recent scent on her is human, a male. Can't quite place it." He rubbed his temples, staring at her. "At least it wasn't a vampire. We're gonna have to involve the cops, too many folk heard the maid screaming."

Quinn craned to look and tensed, squeezing my hand. _I know her, babe. She used to work for Special Events, down in Atlanta. I bumped into her a couple days ago. Surprised to see her here._

"I have a bad feeling about this," I murmured as Quinn inhaled deeply and growled.

"Finch," he rumbled. "That's who she smells of. Vernon Finch."

Well, that explained how Finch got her room key. I guess he'd done a little more than just passing it on. Geiszler rounded on us, radio at the ready. "The sleaze selling sex toys at the fair?" he asked.

"Yeah. That one. Works out of Memphis," Quinn said darkly. _Babe, I got a bad feeling about this too._

...

At sunset Geiszler was pacing, hoping he'd got all his ducks in a row for when Kentucky turned up and tore him a new one. A daunting prospect, even if we knew it was just for appearance's sake.

Along with the footage of Yuri and his men, and the limit footage we had of the assassin, Geiszler also had plenty of footage of Finch, who hadn't seemed to care about getting caught on camera at all. I found that mighty suspicious, but we decided Finch had mistakenly expected the vamps who'd hired him to protect him.

Officially that was Nevada, but unofficially I might have told my immediate boss that Tennessee and Kentucky were in it up to their eyeballs too.

Geiszler's advice was to forget I knew that.

So we had footage of Finch chatting up the dead girl in the bar last night. And, later, up on the ninth floor, footage of her knocking on his door and disappearing into his room. None of her after that, only Finch leaving his room in the small hours, pushing a room service cart.

It looked awful heavy.

Finch went down in the lift with it, and we lost him in on the first floor. He came back with a lighter looking load, and dropped the cart off at her room, using her key to open the door.

There was no question in our minds that Finch had killed her, but I wouldn't be able to confirm it from him.

Finch was dead too.

Geiszler's boys had found him in his room, right after Quinn identified his scent on the dead girl. Looked like a heart attack, they said. There was a hastily-packed suitcase open on the bed, the door was locked, and there were no other scents in the room except for his and the dead girl's.

Belatedly, I realised what Bardulf meant by clearing house.

Two dead bodies put Geiszler in a bind, and he had no choice but to call the cops. When they arrived, Geiszler turned over the footage of the girl going into Finch's room and Finch moving her body, but he kept the information about Yuri and the attack on Eric to himself.

Quinn told the cops Finch had a history of abusing women, so they were framing the girl's murder as rough sex gone wrong (which may very well have been close to the truth, according to the scents Quinn picked up – a detail that made me sick to my stomach).

So the cops were assuming that Finch had a heart attack in his panic to hide the body and flee. They were keeping it all as quiet as they could for a few days, sparing the vamps any negative press. That and the fact we'd got the investigation mostly sown up before sunset had relieved Geiszler mightily.

There were some loose ends niggling at us both.

Neither Yuri or the assassin brought luggage with them – why would they if they were just visiting the trade fair for the afternoon? – so how that holdall of gadgets had gotten into the hotel was a mystery. It couldn't have made it past the scanners, so it must have been stashed somewhere inside.

How Finch got the cart, and the key to the janitor's closet where he'd dumped the unfortunate girl, and how the assassin got a-hold of a maid's uniform puzzled us too. And Yuri and his goons had visited the trade fair at precisely the right time to miss me, when I normally took my lunch break in the café.

It all pointed one way.

Straight at Kentucky.

Whose wrath Geiszler survived. Eventually. After sufficient fang-baring and hissing and yelling – a lot of hot air to cover up his involvement, if you asked me.

Kentucky was awful interested in how the assassin had been stopped. Wearing my best poker face, I told him I didn't know, but the Louisiana Weres had her knocked out and tied up when I arrived. Neb had kept my secret, I kept his.

Amidst all his righteous anger and accusations of sloppiness, Kentucky was careful to establish what exactly we'd discovered. Finch's involvement, Yuri's, the assassin dying before I could read much more than a phone number from her – he was mighty interested in what we knew of all that.

I was equally careful not to tell him a word about my 'interview' with Finch.

As far as Kentucky was concerned, we all thought Nevada was behind it, in retaliation for Eric's takeover. According to Kentucky, we needn't bother interviewing Tennessee, because Tennessee had called him already, furious at de Castro for poaching one of his people to make an attempt on Eric's life.

I didn't ask why Tennessee had been in touch with Kentucky before word even got out.

When Kentucky was done ranting, and no-one was fired or worse, Geiszler and I exchanged a look. We exchanged another, longer look, when Kentucky demanded the assassin's electronic gadgets to take away with him so the hotel owner could 'investigate the breech in their security systems'.

Investigate my sweet ass.

Destroy the evidence more like. And as I'd never laid eyes on the fellow, I was begin to suspect the human hotel owner either didn't exist or was glamoured up to his eye-balls.

I was certain Kentucky was in on the whole thing, but I had no proof and it would be suicide to accuse him.

When Kentucky left Geiszler slumped in relief. Hours of stress dealing with the fall-out had taken its toll on him. He waved me off, telling me I'd earned myself a good long dinner break for all my hard work.

But my night was far from over – I had a vampire king to outwit and those damn jaguars to read for Daisy Riverstone.

…

* * *

**Footnotes:**

* Bardulf is echoing: 'Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?" commonly attributed to Henry II, whose ill-advised remarks triggered the shocking murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, inside his own cathedral.


	34. The Best Revenge

I am absolutely delighted that Crash and Burn has been nominated in three categories of the** YouWant BloodAwards**, incliuding All-Time Favorite. Thank you! Voting is open, and closes on the 22nd. There are lots of amazing stories on the ballot, some I haven't read, so I have that pleasure to look forward to as well as voting for my own favourites.

And today is the last day to vote in AmericanAndroid's Historical Fiction contest over on **Area5BloodyPen. **There are some amazing stories there too.

Now on with the story.

* * *

**The Best Revenge**

* * *

I rose in a pitch black coffin and immediately checked my blood for Pam. She was there, dimmed by distance. I lifted my phone off my chest and hit a button to light the screen. No signal. Nothing since the last message, from Pam shortly before dawn: **Gone to ground. **With no guarantee it was safe to emerge into the Weres' room, I had some thirty minutes to wait out the sun trapped in a steel box. I hissed in frustration.

Someone knocked once on the steel lid above me and I froze.

The tapping continued. In Morse, spelling out: _Magic Flute, you are safe to rise._

Very funny. I disengaged the lock, opened the lid and cautiously sat up. I was in the lounge of the suite, over to one side, Neb standing a respectful distance away.

"I had you moved," he said. "There is much to do. And I knew you would appreciate not rising to the scent of wolf."

I had risen to the scent of death instead.

And Sookie. I was out of the coffin in an instant, examining the corpse in the middle of the room. A female true shifter, laid out on the rug. "Who is this? Why do I smell Sookie?"

"That is the assassin. Sookie was kind enough to read her, but the bitch took cyanide before–"

"Is she alright?"

"She's dead. Can you not tell?"

"I meant–" I caught the amusement in his eyes and muttered, "Never mind." Settling myself on the couch furthest from the stench I said tersely, "Report."

"Bubba's warning was accurate. Yuri and two wolves attacked three hours before sunset. Our wolves chased them into Jephson's waiting ambush, and the dead shifter broke in while the door was unguarded. She got into your room and fell neatly into our trap."

I nodded, resisting the urge to ask how Sookie was involved.

So far, as expected.

Except for Neb having a way to resist day-death.

That had surprised us all as we scrambled to act on the news from Vegas. Bubba, due to loyalty or plain stubbornness, had refused to give his message to anyone but me and unfortunately it was close to dawn when I returned from meeting Iowa.

…

Bubba stood up from the couch, swept his thick hair out of his eyes and greeted me in that famous drawl. "Mister Eric." He eyed Oskar and Neb warily.

"He has a message for you, Dono," Goro said, bowing politely.

"Go ahead, Bubba," I said encouragingly. He was wearing fatigues, but they looked to be a stage costume.

"It ain't good news. Mr de Castro is planning on ending you, in the day." He shifted uneasily on his feet in the tense silence, watching my face. "You gotta believe me, Mister Eric. You gotta hide. Find somewhere real safe."

"When? Who is he sending?" I asked, careful not to sound as angry as I felt. It took a delicate touch to extract information from the pea-soup Bubba called brains.

His face fell. "I don't know rightly know the when of it." He brightened. "But I know who's coming."

"Who's that Bubba?" I said patiently, waving Oskar quiet. I could tell he was about to bark out a string of questions that would only agitate the halfwit.

"That bear of yours – the big fella, the Rusky, never trust a Red I say – he's real pissed at you for firing him. Wants a piece of you."

"Are you sure it's tomorrow Bubba?"

"Yes sir, Mister Eric," he said firmly, giving me a salute before adding contritely, "But I don't know the hour. I had to leave real fast to get here in time."

"You have done well, Bubba." I was impressed he'd stayed coherent this long.

The fool beamed at me. "That's mighty kind of you, Mister Eric. Y'all wouldn't happen to have a cat, would you? I'm mighty peckish."

I gestured to Salvatore to get him some blood and sent Goro across the corridor to rouse Jephson. I turned to Neb and Oskar and began to sketch out a strategy. Jephson arrived blurry-eyed with sleep and muttering he could take Yuri with one hand behind his back, just as Neb suggested I should rest in a coffin with the Weres as it was the last place anyone would expect to find me.

"Neb, I will be safe enough if I double up with you or Oskar. The suite is warded at least, the Weres' rooms are less secure. Jephson is right, he can handle Yuri."

"We don't know how many the bear is bringing," Neb cautioned.

"Unless he brings an army, I will be fine here."

Bubba broke in, agitated. "Mister Eric, y'all should listen to the little fella. I don't know what all Mister de Castro is plannin', but I heard him say the Rusky was just a distraction."

I bit back my impatience with him and asked evenly, "So who is the main threat Bubba?"

He dropped his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't rightly know, Mister Eric." He looked up again. "But Mister de Castro was real sure he'd getcha. The Rusky is s'posed to bait your guard doggies, and it'll work too. On account of the witch givin' him that potion."

"What witch? What potion?" I asked, trying not to sound exasperated. Honestly, he lack the mental coherence to relay the simplest of things. It was like talking to a child.

"I saw 'em test it on a wolf in Vegas. Sent him real wild, all out-a control soon as he got a whiff of it. They didn't know I was watching," he said proudly. "But I saw it."

"Shit," Jephson said, rubbing his face. "He means something to force a shift."

"Does such a thing exist?" asked Oskar.

"Yeah. If you base it on the right pheromones." Jephson rolled his eyes when Oskar smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Take the piss after this shitfest is over. I have some military kit that should protect us from anything scent-based."

"If Yuri means to have our wolves give chase, why don't we turn that against him?" Neb suggested. "Chase him into an ambush."

"That's not a bad idea," said Jephson, rubbing his chin. "Yuri won't come alone though. It'll take all five of us to be sure of subduing him. That'll leave the suite wide open for whoever de Castro is sending."

"I can take care of that. I fancy laying an ambush of my own," Neb said, his fangs dropping. He went on to reveal he had a way to resist day death and offered to lie in wait in my room. We refined our plans, and took our places for the day.

…

It had worked like clockwork. Although a three thousand year old vampire had turned out to be overkill, I thought looking at the dead shifter. I felt insulted.

"The assassin was a professional," Neb assured me and I realised I'd allowed a sneer to cross my face. "She came equipped with a way to jam the cameras and open the locks."

"And cyanide."

"Yes. I must apologise for that. My inattention cost us any further information she might have had."

"Further?"

"Sookie had time to retrieve the phone number of whoever hired her, probably of little use to us, but Mithradates is checking that and various other leads. Sookie also identified the shifter's contact here: a human called Finch."

"Finch?" I repeated as Oskar came out of his room. He'd had chance to shower and change. Bastard. I was still in last night's clothes.

It was Oskar who answered me, as he headed to the fridge for blood. "A procurer, from Memphis. He's been asking questions about you."

"He has?" I asked sharply. "How do we know that?"

"Martha from Magical Moments. She emailed me after she left," Oskar said, pulling two bottles out. I nodded when he waved one at me. I needed something to take the edge off. "Finch was asking about your appetites."

"Pam heard something to the same effect the night she was here," Neb added. "She told me on the way to the airport."

"Why I am only hearing about this now?" I said, irritated. Fucking Bardulf. It was no surprise he wanted a piece of my hide, but I wasn't aware he and de Castro had banded together. Lucky me, uniting that pair.

Neb shrugged and said mildly, "No need to spoil your night with every tiny rumour."

The pulse of heat in the signet ring did nothing to help my mood. I growled, "You should have told me."

"Told you what? That Tennessee is your enemy? You knew that," Oskar said dismissively, opening the microwave when it beeped. "Trust us play our fucking parts, Eric."

"Yes, let us share the burden. Have we not proven loyal?" Neb said.

Neb had, most definitely. I was bordering on insulting him: no vampire let others know of an ability to resist day-death lightly. I closed my eyes for a second, reigning in my temper. "I am not used to…"

"Giving up control," Neb supplied helpfully.

I opened my eyes to see I had finally gotten a smile out of him. Pity it was at my expense, not at my wit. "I was going to say relying on others. I owe you for this, Nebhotep the Reckoner."

His smile widened. "You do not. My motives were entirely selfish. I am not stepping into a king's boots. Especially yours. They stink."

I barked out a laugh despite myself, and took the warm bottle Oskar passed me. I drained it while Neb, serious again, repeated things for Oskar's benefit, adding the shifter's price.

"A million?" Oskar whistled. "De Castro wasted a bundle on your sorry ass. He's going to be furious nothing came of it."

"One can only hope," I said bitingly. "We need to question this Finch."

"Already accomplished," Neb said. "With the lovely Miss Stackhouse's assistance."

I was eager to know how that came about, but it was Oskar who said sharply, "The telepath? Is that who I smell?"

"Yes," Neb answered. "Hotel security were investigating the malfunctioning cameras. She was with them, Jephson asked for her help, She proved most useful. Finch had been primed to resist glamour."

"Oh really," I said. If that was Bardulf's doing, perhaps Finch could link him to the attack. And now I had an explanation for Sookie's presence without having to ask. An explanation that left me faintly disappointed, but I didn't have time to examine why.

Oskar was displeased too. "Neb, surely your glamour would have been sufficient to break Finch," he said, scowling. "No need to involve outsiders."

"I wished to see the telepath work," Neb said coolly.

Oskar's eyebrows shot up. "You allowed her to see you? In the day?"

"She is sworn to secrecy and I judge her trustworthy," Neb said. "She was effective, despite the fact Finch had been glamoured to shield his mind from her."

"Someone was serious about their precautions," I said, frowning. Someone who knew Sookie would be here.

"Yes, but I found a way round it. Finch was a veritable fount of information. Miss Stackhouse confirmed Bardulf was involved, most definitely. But the telepath said he feared de Castro would frame him, so proof may be scarce on the ground."

Neb was probably right if that was the case. Hugh was a conniving bastard. "What else?"

"Bardulf wants you gone for multiple reasons: revenge for Nadia, interference in his affairs, a clear path to the telepath. And to weaken Bartlett's alliance. I believe he is after Mississippi."

I stiffened. Sookie. And Mississippi. Bardulf was becoming a giant thorn in my side.

Oskar hissed. "Eric, I told you an alliance would only gain you more enemies. Their enemies have become yours."

"Bardulf was already my enemy," I said tersely. And he would be a bigger threat if he took Mississippi. "Neb, where is Finch now?"

"Released so no-one will know he is compromised. I thought to use him to flush Bardulf out."

"You think you got everything from him?"

"As much as we could in the time. Others may be involved," he warned. "Wisconsin and Kentucky."

"This human, this Finch knew that?" Oskar asked doubtfully. "That is far too convenient. It smacks of Bardulf shifting the blame."

Neb shook his head. "That didn't come from Finch. Sookie put that together. She has a rare ability to make connections, one beyond her years." He looked straight at me. "She is quite remarkable."

"She is," I said evenly. Was he complimenting my taste or commiserating my loss? Both?

He explained Sookie believed Wisconsin had set up a diversion for her, and her suspicion of Kentucky's out of character generosity to his donors.

Oskar swore. "We should have neutralised Wisconsin."

"Too late to whine over spilt blood," I muttered, equally pissed that four fucking kings had joined forces against me. I fidgeted with my signet ring, annoyed by its warmth, annoyed that I couldn't vent my anger on those responsible.

Yet.

"Wisconsin and Felipe were enough challenge," Oskar warned darkly. "But to have a second group ranged against you…"

"It is only Kentucky and Bardulf," I snapped.

"Add in Ohio and that's formidable opposition," he countered. "It is as I feared, they are banding together in response to Bartlett's group."

"Even if Ohio is with them, we have Texas on our side. We outmatch them," I insisted. Oskar was ever the pessimist, and this was a discussion I had had with him already. Several times. "If Amun will not unify, monarchs will look for strength in numbers. It's a natural consequence of Amun's weakness."

"I am not so sure," Neb said, surprising me. "As you say, we outmatch them. That makes us a threat to the status quo. Fear may be pushing other monarchs to act in concert. Even Illinois is looking for strength outside his borders, and that is unheard of."

Before I could reply, there was a rap on the door. Neb checked the camera on his laptop before he got up to let Jephson in.

"Good. You're up," the wolf said when he saw me. "Want the bad news?"

"Spit it out," I ordered, folding my arms.

"The donor whose room Yuri hid out in is dead, Finch's ugly hand-prints all over her neck. That fucker kicked the bucket too – they found him in his room, with a half-packed suitcase."

We looked at each other. Fuck. Neb cursed softly under his breath, echoing my sentiments in his mother tongue.

"There's more," Jephson said. "The place is crawling with cops. Geiszler kept us out of it, but he had no choice with two bodies on his hands."

We all looked at the one on the rug.

Shit. Well, we had a coffin…

"Did you see Finch's body?" I asked, a plan beginning to form.

"Yeah. Geiszler's been as helpful as he could. Poor bastard's tearing his hair out over this." The wolf rubbed his face. "Finch's room was locked, no sign of forced entry. Poison I reckon, something odourless. There was an open water bottle by the body."

"Bardulf covering his tracks," Oskar said sourly.

Neb shook his head. "I hoped Finch would last longer. He must have outlived his usefulness."

"You weren't to know," Jephson said charitably. "Plus everything I'm hearing about how this went down … She knew where the cameras were, how to bypass security. Had to be someone on staff helping them."

I exchanged a grim look with Oskar and Neb.

Jephson cleared his throat. "What's that look about, boss?"

"Kentucky," I said quietly.

"Great," he said sourly, looking at the corpse. "All hell is gonna break loose at sundown. What you want to do with that, boss?"

"Is Yuri intact?"

"Yep. Bruised, a broken collarbone. Nothing much."

"Good. Has New Mexico arrived?"

He cocked his head. "Yeah."

"In that case, I have an idea."

Beginning to smirk I outlined my plans, and by the time Jephson left to run his errands, he was grinning too.

…

At sunset, two things happened. Goro, grim-faced and wearing his sword, shot out of his room. And all our phones began to chime with calls and alerts.

I answered Pam first. "I am here."

"Thank fuck. What happened?"

I hadn't had time to do more than warn her to go to ground before dawn. "Felipe sent an assassin. I am intact. There?"

"Nothing." I heard her phone chime. "That's Maxwell. The phone tree." A second later: "Area 5 is solid."

I could hear the relief in her voice. "Be cautious tonight."

"Please, am I newborn? Besides, I'm spoiling for a fight. I have dirt in my hair."

"I must go," I said, smiling.

"Don't you dare hang up, Pam!" said a second voice. There was fumbling as the phone changed hands and Rory came on the line. "Eric, do you have need of me?"

"The situation is under control."

"You call someone with a stake in your room under control?" I heard Pam hiss in the background as I pulled the phone away from my ear. Rory was loud and getting louder. "Why didn't you call me? I'd have stood guard over you, made that bitch rue the day she was–"

"Rory," I interrupted firmly.

I heard her take a breath. "Sorry. Sebastian told me. The thought of–"

"I am busy."

"Of course. Be safe, deartháir." She hung up.

Goro was ignoring his phone and watching me, a puzzled look on his face. "The fairy offered to guard you?" he asked.

I nodded and looked down at my phone, scrolling through it. I called Bartlett next. He picked up straight away.

"Eric. We must meet. A war council, my suite. In half an hour if that suits?"

"I have meetings scheduled at eight and ten."

"You will go? Ah, business as usual. Of course. Yes. Later then, midnight?"

"Midnight it is."

I hung up and scrolled rapidly through the rest of the messages, replying to some with a short text confirming I would be attending tonight's meetings, and trashing the ones that were just fishing for information. Iowa sent a picture of a burning cape that made me smile. By the time I finally pocketed my phone Salvatore had joined us.

Oskar was still speak to his second, but Neb had finished his calls. He asked, "You are going to the meetings?"

"Yes. The best revenge is living well, they say. Let us show Felipe how little we care for his threats."

Oskar tucked his phone away and joined the conversation. "Excellent plan. Neb can accompany you."

"Regretfully I cannot," Neb said. "I must feed and enter day-death."

I blinked. "Now?" I asked. At night, in a hotel full of vampires?

"Within the hour. I do not anticipate rising again until sunset tomorrow. Magic has a cost, and defeating the sun is taxing."

"You guarded Eric when I could not. I will watch over you, old one," Goro offered, eyeing the body on the rug.

"Is that acceptable?" I asked and Neb nodded. "Very well. I will attend to business. Oskar will handle Kentucky and the hotel people, and keep Bubba out of trouble." Oskar gave me a sour look but I ignored it. "Goro will stand guard here. Salvatore."

He came forward. "Yes, your majesty?"

"Do you know…" I searched for the name of the vampire Maxwell found so talkative at the last Amun summit, while I was still stuck in Zeus with Freyda. "McKinley, from Oklahoma?"

"Yes."

"He's here, with Kentucky. Seek him out. He likes to gossip and he was loyal to Darius, no friend to Freyda. Play that angle, see if he'll let slip anything about Kentucky's role in this."

Goro hissed. "Kentucky was in on it?"

"Very likely. Be careful, Salvatore. Don't let on that we suspect his king." I hoped Salvatore would prove as cunning as he'd been with Isabel. "Neb, fill Goro in."

…

After a hot shower I was marginally more relaxed. Drying my hair, I caught sight of the heavy gold band on my hand and sighed.

Last night had been piss poor timing for my new ability to manifest. Once I was home, Rory could teach me to control it, hone it into something useful. For now, we hoped the signet ring would function as a sink for it, as long as I kept reasonably calm…

Some fucking hope, with two more nights of summit and at least two kings out for my blood. Speaking of which…

While I was alone I checked the email drop I'd given Yasmin. Nothing since the message from last week, the one that said her 'uncle' was so pleased with the way his business was going he was taking her on a trip, but she worried about the rattlesnakes in the desert and the lack of wifi.

Translation: Bardulf was smug and planning something; she would be out of touch at the summit.

With hindsight, that desert comment meant Nevada. I was fairly confident Yasmin hadn't double-crossed me, and her lack of a direct warning just meant she was still being watched. With luck, her reaction to this might cement her in Bardulf's confidence.

I got dressed and found Mithradates waiting in the lounge. The body and coffin were gone. Conveniently for us, the hotel cameras covering the corridor were still out, so there was no problem squirrelling the dead shifter away into an empty room. Just in case any of my multitude of enemies thought it would be a good idea to point law enforcement our way.

Oskar got off the phone and announced, "The Amun council is convening at midnight. Emergency meeting."

I grunted an acknowledgement and turned to the lawyer. "Mithradates, what news?"

"As expected, the phone was a burner," he said, launching straight in. "No id on the shifter yet, and no way to trace her payment back to Nevada until we find out who she was. And as I understand from Miss Stackhouse's information she was paid in cash," he looked at Neb, who nodded a confirmation, "so that might be a dead end."

"Any leads on the shifter?" I asked.

"I made a point of running into Elaine Randall this afternoon," the lawyer answered. "I provide her with a description and she is making discreet enquiries. She was displeased to hear one of her people was involved. From her reaction she was worried it might affect your working relationship."

I shrugged. I didn't hold the Caucus responsible for every mangy cur in existence.

Mithradates continued, "I checked with the airlines. Finch had a return ticket to Memphis for after the summit. But he also had a ticket to Vegas tonight, purchased a week ago, online. With his personal credit card, the same one he's been using at the hotel."

"Ah," I said.

Oskar shook his head. "Someone laid a trail of breadcrumbs all the way to de Castro."

"Yes, they did," Mithradates said solemnly. "There's more. That card was also used to make some online purchases that were delivered to an address in Vegas. And there are some interesting deposits in his checking account that originate in Nevada."

I raised an eyebrow, but I didn't ask how he found that out: demons had their ways of extracting information, and they didn't generally share them with vampires.

"I sent all the details to Sanjay for him to work his magic, but it looks like Tennessee covered his tracks well." His face became even more serious. "I also learnt something interesting from the detectives attending the scene of Finch's death."

"Go on."

"They know it was murder – poison in a water bottle from the mini-bar, to be precise – but they are covering it up as a heart attack. One of the detectives was most unhappy about that, vocally so. He blamed corruption higher up in the police department."

"It seems Kentucky has friends on the force," I said dryly.

"Yes," Mithradates replied. "Friends who told the officers what to expect before they arrived at the crime scene this afternoon."

Either Kentucky had planned for all eventualities with impossible foresight, or he knew before dawn exactly how Finch was going to be … disposed of. He was in this up to his fangs.

I looked at Neb and then Oskar. "So we are supposed to buy that Felipe used Finch and then killed him to ensure his silence."

"It would appear so," Neb agreed.

"But in reality it was that arsehole Bardulf," Oskar said.

Mithradates pulled a sheaf of parchment from his briefcase. "We have enough to begin proceedings against Felipe. I've prepared a formal complaint against Nevada to present to the Amun council. I kept the option open to add a complaint against Bardulf later, should we find proof against him."

"The council will be only too happy to forward a complaint to Narayana," Oskar sneered. "The members are furious at another attack on Amun from that quarter. Although I expect they will be calmer by the meeting." He shot a glance at me. "Iowa is already expressing her displeasure at Felipe's interference."

"I think we can confidently expect a ruling in your favour," Mithradates said, "assuming de Castro thought it better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. From what I've heard it is unlikely Narayana would back an attack on Amun anyway. Not to mention he broke the treaty on summit neutrality."

"It's been broken before," Neb said, looking at me.

"Sophie Ann was careful to cover her tracks, and Jennifer Carter was not a queen," I pointed out, sitting forward. "A fine for something of this magnitude will be a blow, though. Felipe's casinos have been haemorrhaging dollars as of late."

"Let's hope for the death of many cuts then," Oskar said.

"Yes, let's." I took the complaint and skimmed it. It was all in order. Mithradates handed me a quill and I signed it with a flourish, slumping back against the couch. I could extract a pound of flesh from de Castro, but it was galling not to have an avenue to hit back at Tennessee.

Yet.

I would come up with something. I turned to the lawyer. "Do you have the paperwork ready for tonight's meetings?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, Sebastian. You have been most helpful."

As he got up to leave he said dryly, "As Rory stopped blowing up my phone at sunset, I take it you spoke?"

"Yes. Feeling neglected?" I said lightly.

"Enjoying the peace." He flashed that wicked smile of his. "But don't tell her that."

…

Neb was halfway through his second donor when Thalia arrived. She gave me a cursory nod and said gruffly, "Zola released me to you. An extra sword to guard your back."

"Ah." I held up a hand before Oskar could start. "I know. It would not be wise to look like we need Alabama's support."

And it might complicate things with Iowa. One jealous woman was enough to deal with. I pushed the errant thoughts of Sookie away. Now was definitely not the time.

Goro cleared his throat and gestured at Neb, who was drinking deeply.

Good idea.

"Thalia, my sheriff needs a bodyguard more than I. Are you agreeable?" She shrugged. When I called his name, Neb looked up from the brunette, his eyes unfocused and his mouth bloody. "Would you object to Thalia as your guard?"

His eyes sharpened. "No. I would be honoured." He gave her a bow, from the waist and she nodded back. Then she gave me a look that indicated we needed to speak.

"Come," I said, gesturing her towards my room.

Once we were inside I asked quietly, "You think Diantha is not enough?"

She scowled. "Worry about your own skin, not the telepath's."

"So what is it then?" I asked testily. I didn't like her tone.

She switched to Greek._ "A little bird sent to gather gossip sang in my ear."_

I raised my eyebrow and she nodded. Yasmin.

"_He was furious at sunset. Definitely disappointed."_

"_Did she know?"_ I asked.

"_She says not." _She met my eyes._ "She was apologetic. Seemed genuine."_

I nodded. _"He is not a fool. He would not let someone untested in on this. Is that all?"_

"_The dead human, Finch, was a frequent visitor in Memphis. Dropped like a hot cake once they got here. That puzzled our bird. She says look there first. She will find out what she can."_

We returned to the lounge. Neb was drinking from the last human. He pulled away from her neck sluggishly, and Goro ushered the donors out. Thalia lifted Neb bodily off the couch. His eyes were already closing, but he mumbled, "Ah, such soft hands to tuck me in."

Thalia froze momentarily and then glared down at him. "Watch your tongue old man, or I'll put you outside at dawn for the crows to feast on."

Grumbling under her breath she slung him roughly over her shoulder, and disappeared into his room. Goro raised his eyebrows at me and I shrugged. I had no idea what that was either. Foreplay possibly. Rather Neb than me.

Oskar looked at his phone and growled. "Kentucky is on his way.

"Not looking forward to wading through his bullshit?" I asked.

He snorted. "Or minding that halfwit Bubba. How did I draw that short straw?"

"Because you're not king," I said with a grim smile.

"Fuck you," Oskar muttered. "Kentucky will be here in five. How rude do you want me to be to the treacherous prick?"

"As rude as you like without actually staking him. And that is my cue to leave. Come Goro, I want to see New Mexico before the meeting."

I might actually stake Kentucky if I stayed.

…

New Mexico had taken the last free suite in the hotel, on the unpopular ninth floor with Missouri – unpopular because many of those on the highest floors at Rhodes perished in the sun. Of course, many on the lowest floors were crushed so it was the middle floors that were most favoured. That was why I was on the fifth floor – the lowest to have light-tight rooms in the main wing.

On the face of it, New Mexico was here to hawk his wares. His high-tech company, Smoking Mirrors, had cornered the market in super-fast security cameras. That is, cameras fast enough to catch vampires. They had a stall at the trade fair, staffed by some of his subjects.

I suspected Tezcatlipoca was here to kill two birds, but I wasn't privy to nature of the second.

Goro and Marie were with me. The shifters outside the suite, two of Tezcatlipoca's jaguars, had us wait for a moment while they spoke to their king. Surprisingly, they allowed all three of us inside. The room smelt strongly of big cat, smoke and offal. From the altar set up on a table opposite the couches, I assumed.

New Mexico was alone and stood to greet me with a nod. He was short but stocky, and powerfully built. The neatly pressed jeans and white button-down he was wearing made him look like a Mexican farm-worker, down to his tan. Without feathers and face paint I'd seen him sporting at Nadia's trial, he looked particularly unassuming.

For a god.

I didn't know if Tezcatlipoca believed his own hype, but he was enough of an unknown quantity that I intended to treat him with respect. Plus, I was here to ask for a favour. Consequently, I nodded back a little deeper than he had.

"Eric the Northman. Rumours of your final death are exaggerated." He had a Spanish accent, but it was slight.

"Tezcatlipoca. I hear you arrived in a private jet, but then, not all rumours are to be trusted."

"That one is true," he said cautiously.

"Then I wish to beg a favour. I need a parcel delivered, if it suits you. To Nevada."

His dark eyes lit with interest. "I am flying west tomorrow. How big is this parcel?"

"Two parcels, in fact. Both about six feet long."

A sly smile cracked his face. "In that case, it will be no trouble. Deliver your _parcels_ to my plane before dawn."

"Thank you. One is … delicate. It must arrive in Nevada still breathing. With witnesses, if that is possible."

His smile widened. "That can be arranged. It will be my pleasure to rub Nevada's nose in his failure. You are meeting with Indiana later?"

"Yes."

The smile disappeared. "I may see you then."

That was … ominous.

…

Marie crossed herself as we got in the elevator and Goro laughed at her. "What?" she snapped. "That … whatever the hell he is freezes my blood." She grumbled, "Did you smell that stench? He's not natural."

I chuckled. "Neither are we."

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Goro said sagely.

"She is only young, Goro. No need to point out her ignorance."

"I'm not as ignorant as that fool who turned the nineteen year old. Who'd be stuck with that brat for eternity?" Marie shot back, then she grinned. "Didn't think I'd see you two smiling tonight."

"What can I say? Revenge is sweet." I winked at her.

"Blood would be better," Goro said, patting his belly. "More satisfying."

"Alas, we can't have everything." Felipe head on a silver plate would be very satisfying about now.

Marie shook her head as the elevator opened on the first floor.

"Show-time," I said, smirking widely as we disembarked.

And because fate was not my bitch, but she was a bitch in general, Sookie was coming towards us across the lobby, with Quinn right behind her.

One of us faltered slightly, but she _was_ human. She threw her shoulders back and raised her chin as we approached.

"Ah, Miss Stackhouse," I said smoothly. "Thank you for your assistance this afternoon." In the background Quinn clenched his jaw, but I was focused on her. She looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot, but they met mine this time – a fact that pleased me more than it should.

"No need to thank me, Eric." There was the barest trace of irritation in her voice. "I was only doing my job."

I leaned just a little closer, and smiled warmly. "A job you are very good at. Remarkable was the term used."

"That's very kind of … your staff," she said, tensing slightly, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"It is the truth," I said simply. "You were magnificent at the trial too."

She shifted awkwardly. She never could take a compliment. "Well … I'm afraid I have an appointment."

"Ah, same here. No rest for the wicked. Have a good evening, Sookie."

"You too, Eric. I am glad you weren't hurt." She stiffened as soon as the words were out, but I merely nodded and walked on before she could take them back. Quinn was scowling as I past him but I could not care less.

A civil conversation. That was progress. Definite progress.

…

As we walked towards my first meeting, heads turned, necks craned and whispers followed us. I wondered if Lazarus got a similar reaction. Vampires should be laid back about miraculous resurrections – we had all risen. Surviving an assassination was really not that exciting.

The meeting was purely business, with not many from the hierarchy in attendance, instead mostly investors interested in pursuing new technologies, new markets. However, once the presentations were over, I found the mingling afterwards was only marginally productive. Many vampires approached me with the events of the day in mind, not potential profits to be made. I hid my irritation at the attention and joked about cheating death without giving anything away about how I'd done so.

Nobody pressed for details. Not with Goro standing behind me, scowling the whole time, the outline of a stake wrinkling his suit.

When it wound up, I crossed the first floor to a larger conference room, where the seven southern most states in Amun were convening on security, Marie and Goro behind me. Glancing towards the lobby, I was pleased to see Kentucky suffering his own grilling at the hands of Iowa and Alabama, no doubt less than impressed with his supposedly secure hotel. Michigan was waiting to speak to him too.

Good. Kentucky wouldn't be hosting another summit any time soon. Treacherous bastard.

We were almost late to the meeting, because I was stopped repeatedly by other monarchs.

Illinois gave me a deeper nod than I'd been honoured with previously and got straight to his point. "Louisiana. Continued interference from Narayana is neither welcome or tolerable. I trust your retribution will be swift."

I allowed myself a small smile. "Swift, but not as deadly as I might wish."

"Of course. That is the way of the times. There will be a film crew at the ball tomorrow." A slight crease between his eyes gave vent to his displeasure.

"I was unaware."

"Yes. That was a decision I had no part in. Unfortunately, Isaiah has a bad habit of putting dollars before sense." He looked me in the eyes. "I will be speaking to him later. He must account for this afternoon's events."

I held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "He must."

His eyes widened, and his jaw tensed. "Siding with clan outsiders against our own is not acceptable, It weakens Amun. But Kentucky is not the only one who could be accused of that." His eyes flicked over my face. "Feeding the wolf at the door only makes it bolder."

I got his point. "My arrangement with Texas is mutually beneficial. But it does not conflict with my loyalty to Amun."

He watched me leave with narrowed, assessing eyes. I may have leapt higher in his estimation by surviving the day, but that only meant I was on his radar as a threat to watch.

Maude waylaid me next, making a show of kissing my cheeks to cover her whisper: "Thank God! Pam would have been a bigger bitch than ever."

"Maude, trying to make your husband jealous again?" I teased quietly.

Winking she raised her voice for our audience and said loudly, "You always were a lucky swine Eric. And de Castro is a bumbling idiot. I was right, summits will be thrilling with you around."

Ohio interrupted us, congratulating me as heartily as Maude did without kissing me. I knew Maude was sincere. Ohio, not so much. My bullshit meter was well in the red. Maybe Oskar was right about him.

I extricated myself only to run into Missouri.

"Eric!" he said enthusiastically, and I thought he might clap me on the back for a second. "You are a site for sore eyes. Well played, well played."

"Missouri," I said curtly, trying to dismiss him as quickly as possible.

He ignored the brush off, and leaned closer. "Was it an inside job?" His eyes slide to Goro and Marie. "You must have a gift for spotting the enemy within. How did you root out the viper at your breast? Do tell."

I raised an eyebrow. "My retinue is loyal."

"Oh," he said, sounding faintly disappointed. He was probably more concerned for his own neck than mine. If anyone was going to get staked in the back by one of their own while we were here, my money was on him. I excused myself, but then my evening got much more entertaining.

Tennessee was ahead, walking towards the meeting room at a brisk clip with Yasmin on his arm.

"Ah, Bardulf," I called, loud enough that he couldn't ignore me. "How goes your night?"

I watched with amusement as his shoulders tensed slightly before he turned to face me. Yasmin was stiff besides him, hackles up. His hand tightened on her arm in warning, and she relaxed. She was acting her part well.

"Louisiana," he said, smiling. "It is good to see you."

Lying through his fangs, as usual. "We have an enemy in common, it seems," I said, smirking.

"Oh? And who might that be?" A few creases around his eyes betrayed his tension.

"Why, Felipe of course. I hear he poached one of your humans." I turned to Goro and asked carelessly, "What was the pimp's name again?"

"Finch, your majesty. A piece of excrement on the shoe of humanity."

"Ah, yes. Finch." I turned back. "You really should take more care of your assets. But I assume he is no great loss."

"No," he said stiffly. "Felipe has been most … impertinent to us both."

"Yes. What is it they say? The enemy of my enemy is my friend. We find ourselves on the same side, it seems."

"Of course." He smiled, but it was thin. "Come, Yasmin. Let's take our seats."

As he was so eager to get away I decided to delay him by tossing the ball into Yasmin's court. "How generous of you, Hugh, taking in stray orphans."

Yasmin's head snapped around and she hissed, "My maker was worth ten of you."

She was really quite good.

"You should keep her on a tighter leash Hugh. Someone might snap that pretty neck." I stepped closer, staring into her eyes and was rewarded by both of them tensing. Good girl. I lowered my voice. "You had no choice in Nadia, Yasmin. Now you are free, pick your allies with care. Anyone with my enemy," I slid my eyes to Bardulf, "is against me."

There. I'd delivered a subtle message. It would make Tennessee wonder if I was onto him, improve Yasmin's cover, and warn her not to double-cross me. I stepped back and watched Bardulf leave with a smile on my face.

The boot was on the other foot, and it felt good to do some kicking, albeit metaphorically.

Kentucky met me in the doorway of the meeting room. He hid any annoyance at my continued existence better than Bardulf, but knowing Isaiah he'd done his part for money rather than sheer spite. He pulled off sounding apologetic as he blamed weaknesses in the security systems. He assured me he'd be up-grading and going through his staff with a fine tooth comb to root out any traitors.

Presumably he was skipping himself.

But it was too late: his reputation as a host had been damaged.

The meeting that followed was tense, and not just because Bardulf, Kentucky and I were in the same room. The Fellowship and their hangers-on were still our main security issue in the South. Russell, Zola for Alabama, and I all argued for greater co-operation and information sharing. It was good sense – the Chosen had no problems co-ordinating their actions across state lines, and we put ourselves at a disadvantage if we did not do the same.

Tennessee and Kentucky argued that now the Fellowship were targeting the furred over the fanged – the wolves in sheep's clothing that walked among them, as it were – we should leave well alone. Let the two-natured take their share of the flack, as we had suffered it alone when we were the only ones living openly with the humans.

Red Rita and Missouri vacillated, on the fence, and the meeting broke up without a formal agreement covering all seven states. Politically, that was disastrous. We needed to work together, there was no way we could contain the situation acting separately.

But in the strictly personal sense, it was an enjoyable ninety minutes. Every time I spoke it irritated the fuck out of Bardulf. Every time I smiled he stiffened as if his fangs might drop.

And when I got back to the suite, I got the satisfaction of sending de Castro a clear message not to fuck with me.

…

Jephson opened the store room with the key Geiszler had given him. "All set boss."

There were two coffins on trestle tables inside. I opened the one with the air holes punched in it.

"Hello Yuri." His eyes were so wide the whites glowed in the dim light. He was wrapped in silver, but it didn't obscure his outfit. I looked down at him and smirked. I was impressed Jephson had come up with a costume in the time – Yuri was hardly a small man, and what he was wearing was aimed at children. Or the simple-minded, so that worked. "Nice bear suit, Jephson."

"Couldn't find a Yogi one his size," Jephson said sadly. "But I guess a picnic basket wouldn't fit in there with his fat greedy ass anyway."

"This one should keep him warm in the hold."

It wouldn't. It was cheap and thin. And yellow. That cartoon bear with the ridiculous name – the one who is fat and incredibly stupid and likes honey. Named for shit.

Very appropriate. Yuri had shit for brains if he thought he could attack me and live.

Not that I was going to kill him myself. Oh no. He would arrive in Nevada alive and well, but all that was waiting for him there was a demonstration of Felipe's fury followed by a cold grave in the desert. Quickly followed if he was lucky.

Not that I wouldn't have enjoyed killing him, but Yuri was my ex-employee. This was known, and on record with the BSA. It wouldn't do to be linked to his death, that bitch Lindenberg would have a field day with that, so I was washing my hands of him.

De Castro could deal with his own trash. Yuri and the dead shifter both. Speaking of which…

I grinned and said, "I want you to take a message to Nevada for me, Yuri."

He began to squirm, grunting against the gag. Good. He had a long flight to anticipate all the painful ways Felipe might vent his anger on him.

I bent over him and spoke slowly. "Tell de Castro he should put his affairs in order before he meddles in mine again. I will content myself with ruining him for this, but should there be a repeat I will have his head."

I held my hand out and Jephson passed me a thick envelope and a roll of duct tape. I taped the envelope securely to Yuri's chest, careful to avoid the silver.

The envelope contained documents, and footage that Neb had taken from our camera. Poppy's camera, the one the assassin had missed, the one that caught it all.

The footage showed Yuri and his henchmen attacking my guards, and the assassin breaking into the suite.

There was a copy of a California state driver's license, showing the assassin's real identity, courtesy of Elaine Randall. I must have impressed her.

And also copies of the records Sanjay and Mithradates had unearthed in record time, showing the burner phone had been in Nevada when it was used to hire the assassin. Plus bank records showing Finch's payments from Vegas, his plane ticket, his credit card statement showing his purchases sent there.

The smoking gun Amun would be presenting to Narayana.

I was going bleed Felipe dry.


	35. Curveballs

Thanks for all the reviews as ever. Today's offering was rushed, so let me know if I messed anything up.

* * *

**Curveballs**

* * *

"Daisy is meeting us up there," I said to Quinn, switching my radio to silent before I glanced up, towards the elevators.

Eric.

His hair was down and gleaming, and he was wearing a dark blue suit over a crisp white shirt. Lord, he rocked a suit. I had a crazy urge to touch him, make sure he was real. Solid. Unharmed.

He was, clearly, given the way he strode towards us as if he owned the place.

Reminding my own legs that they, too, knew how to walk, I moved towards him, fixing a polite expression on my face. That left me no capacity to respond to Quinn, who was having an entirely different reaction to the sight of Eric. One that was decidedly less positive than mine.

Thank goodness I was the telepath, not Quinn.

Especially as, when Eric reached us, I found myself searching his eyes for signs of tension. Was he still in danger? I couldn't tell, he had that vampire mask on. Of course, he thanked me, right there and then, in front of Quinn. I was getting mighty tired of playing piggy-in-the-middle of their posturing, but, like the lady Gran raised, I kept my reply polite and professional.

And Quinn appropriate.

I was, technically, doing my job when I helped Neb. Not point in causing trouble where there was none.

I didn't know what to make of the praise Eric heaped on me, but it gave me a moment of panic that Neb had given away my secret. I was so relieved when Eric said goodnight that the truth slipped out before I could stop it.

I _was_ glad Eric escaped unscathed, but it wasn't real tactful to say so with Quinn at my elbow.

Quinn kept a lid on his temper as we got into the elevator. He didn't say anything. Not out loud. But I knew what his thoughts on the matter were just by the way he hit the button that little bit harder than necessary.

Unfortunately, I didn't have time to wait for him to get over it. We needed to talk. Privately, but there was a camera in the lift. I cuddled up to him, resting my head on his shoulder and slipping my arms around his waist. It took a second for his arms to circle me – I'd taken him by surprise – but when he did, I took advantage of our closeness. Knowing Quinn could hear me but no-one else would I whispered, "You seen Bardulf yet?"

He shook his head. _No, babe. Clarabel's about, and a couple of the other vamps from Tennessee. But none of them approached me._

I nodded, and sighed against his warmth. The waiting, the unknown – it was getting to us both. He squeezed me gently._ We'll work something out. Niall won't let him lay a finger on you._

I wasn't so sure Niall would protect him though, and neither was Quinn. "I won't let Bardulf hurt you either," I whispered fiercely.

He kissed my crown. _Wish I knew what that fucker had on me. Must have something to do with the dead girl._

"Won't matter. Whatever it is, we'll have something worse."

_Worse? You mean something on Bardulf? That's your plan?_

I nodded.

_I don't know, babe. Blackmailing a vamp, that could blow up in our faces._

"It won't," I said more confidently than I felt. I just needed a word with Diantha, but that would have to wait.

Daisy was waiting on the ninth floor, in jeans and a battered leather jacket, her dark hair hanging down her back in a neat thick braid. She gave Quinn the once over. "What's he doing here?"

"I came to see Timas," Quinn said, not impressed to be ignored.

Daisy thought that over for a second. "Timas is inside. Sookie, you'll be closer to the jaguars if you go in with Quinn."

That was the snag: the jaguars weren't exactly a willing party to what we were doing. And New Mexico was in there too, occupied in his room and wouldn't come out, so Daisy said. I hadn't been to keen to rely on that, so Daisy was supposed to go in and get the jaguars thinking of Hector while I 'eavesdropped' from the corridor.

That had been the plan. The nice, safe plan.

I opened my mouth to argue, but Quinn said, "Sure. That way I'll be right beside you, babe. Who's in there?"

I sighed, and stretched out my mind. "Three twoeys and… That's all."

Daisy actually smiled at my confusion, if a little grimly. "I put up wards on the king's room. Strong wards, against eavesdroppers."

And apparently that included telepaths. Not sensing the king's void put me on edge, but Quinn was already knocking on the door. Show time.

…

The suite was decorated in creams and rich browns, with the usual end tables and couches, lamps and vases of tasteful flowers. In other words, with all the blandness of a high-end hotel suite.

Except that a long, low table had been moved to the focal point of the room, covered with a thick red cloth, and made into some sort of shrine. A squat black statue about a foot high, roughly carved to show man in a headdress, sat at the heart of the arrangement. Two gold incense holders on either side of it smoked slightly, giving off a pungent, musky odour, and there were two offering plates before the statue, one piled with flowers and the other with what looked to be raw offal.

Yuck.

Quinn said Camargo and his pack considered New Mexico to be their god, so I guessed the statue represented the vampire himself. I was most curious about what lay at its feet: a dagger, lying across a round mirror with a thick wooden frame decorated in red and yellow. No ordinary dagger: it had a carved handle and a black smoky blade of obsidian, hewn and scalloped to wicked, thin edge. The mirror was obsidian too, black and polished so smooth it looked like water.

Timas sat opposite us, one arm thrown carelessly across the back of the couch, one cowboy-booted foot resting on casually on his knee. He was wearing tight jeans and a cream shirt, sleeves rolled up to show off his tanned forearms and an expensive gold watch. Slimmer than his father Camargo, he had the same copper skin and the same thick black hair, tossed back in artful waves. His face would put Serena out of a day job – perfect cheekbones accentuated by just the right of amount of stubble and an intense stare.

Frannie sure woke up to a pleasant view.

"How are you, brother? Doing well for yourself, eh?" Timas said glancing at me.

"I am," Quinn said, stretching a possessive arm out behind me.

The back of my neck prickled. The two were-jaguars whose brains I was going to pick were guarding New Mexico's door behind us. Big men, wearing jaguar skins over their heads and shoulders, the kind of skins that still had paws and teeth. They sure looked intimidating. Right now they were relaxed, focused on Quinn and Timas. I hoped it stayed that way.

Their interest spiked when Quinn said, "Frannie called me. She was upset."

"We were fine until you stirred things up at Christmas," Timas answered, his face clouding. His frown came with a pout worthy of a spoilt teenager. Frannie was welcome to that.

Quinn shifted besides me, leaning forwards and hanging his arms loosely over his knees as he fixed Timas with a stare. "You promised me you'd take care of her."

"I have, man. We have a nice house, a little land to grow vegetables, everything a–"

Quinn interrupted him. "You know what I mean, Timas. She's unhappy with the way you treat her."

"Papi follows the old ways. You know how it is." His eyes slid towards the guards. "What do you expect me to do?"

"She's your wife," Quinn said a little louder, the tension rising. I laid my hand on his side reminding him to keep his cool. Distracting the guards was good; an actual fight wasn't.

I took my hand away when Daisy walked in. I couldn't concentrate with my head full of Quinn. Daisy didn't waste any time. She walked straight up to one of the guards and asked where Hector was in a low pleading whisper. I focused on him, but he was defensive and hard to read, so I switched to his friend. He was watching Daisy, full of remorse for her pain.

That was interesting. I stuck with guard number two.

It was the right choice: he thought of Hector almost at once, and the promise he made him not to tell Daisy anything. It was hard to get specifics without touching him, but I saw Hector, in the cab of a pickup bouncing along a dark road, the vehicle kicking up clouds of sand. No street lights, no houses, the smell of dust and blood.

Blood, and somewhere out in the desert.

Timas had raised his voice, and the noise broke my concentration. "... put la familia first, man."

Quinn growled, deep in his throat, and started to rise. "Frannie _is_ your family, you little–"

I grabbed at his arm, pulling him back down just as the door to the corridor opened. Camargo came in. I felt the two guards tense and Daisy move away from them. Thanks to the raised voices Camargo was looking at us and his son.

"Quinn. What are –" Camargo broke off as Timas launched into a flood of Spanish. He held up his hand, and Timas fell silent. Then Camargo noticed Daisy and his eyes narrowed. "Witch, ees there a problem with your wards?" His eyes flicked back to me and he asked slowly, "Why ees the telepath here?"

"She's with me," Quinn rumbled as the first guard said, "The witch was asking about Hector again."

Eyes flashing, Camargo turned to Daisy. "This ees how you repay our hospitality. Going behind my back. Spying on us."

Shit. I twisted on the couch, and watched as guards looked from their packmaster to Daisy to me.

Comprehension dawned and everybody started talking at once. Camargo and Daisy hissed at each other, Timas stood up to put in his two cents, and not to be outdone Quinn leapt to his feet too. One of the guards came towards the couch, rebuking me in rapid, angry Spanish. I got up, holding my hands up in a calming gesture, but before I could begin to explain or apologise the bedroom door was thrown open, banging loudly against the wall.

New Mexico stood in the doorway.

At least I assumed it was him from the dramatic silence. I was sure of it when the two guards whirled round and dropped to one knee, bowing their heads.

The king was dressed like Timas: jeans and a shirt. He had black hair, and his skin had retained the deepest tan I'd seen on a vampire, but it was the bloodstained bib around his neck that held my eye. He was holding a wet chunk of something raw and bloody.

Camargo had called him fickle and bloodthirsty. I held my breath.

"Noise is not good for the digestion," he said calmly and took a bite out of whatever it was in his hand, chewing slowly as he stared at us.

He was chewing?

His mind – it wasn't a void. It was like … the wind. A whistling, howling wind.

"What are you?" I whispered and immediately regretted it when his eyes fell on mine. That howling got louder, biting coldly at my mind. A shiver ran through me, and when he smiled my blood froze. I could see dark shreds of flesh caught in his blunt teeth.

"I am Night Wind, Smoking Mirror, Ruler of Earth and Sky. I am Tezcatlipoca." he said softly, his eyes drawing me in, something curling hypnotically in their black depths. Then he blinked. Popping the last of his snack into his mouth and licking his fingers with relish, he turned to Camargo. "What is wrong, Corazón de las Montanas?"

Camargo launched into an explanation, and I noticed Timas didn't butt in this time. I couldn't understand a word of it, but I got the gist. Camargo was fit to be tied, and furious with Daisy.

The king turned to her. "You brought the telepath into my house?"

Daisy didn't flinch under his gaze, but she didn't look relaxed either. "Yes, El Viento. I meant no disrespect."

_Why didn't she say Sookie was with me? _I would've agreed with Quinn's frustrated thought, but I got the impression lying to New Mexico was a really, really bad idea.

Daisy said something else, but the only word I understood was Brigant.

Tezcatlipoca grunted, worrying at a back tooth with a fingernail for a moment, before winkling out a shred of flesh, examining it and sucking his finger clean. "And you, tiger. Why are you disturbing my meal?"

"I had business with Timas," Quinn said stiffly.

"So I heard. But it is not Timas you want to tear apart, is it?" Tezcatlipoca locked eyes with Quinn and smiled a challenge. I felt Quinn's mind become less human, more tiger and I looked at him in alarm. The planes of his face were rippling, shifting.

"You threatened my family," Quinn said thickly. "I should kill you."

Tezcatlipoca's voice took on a richer timbre and his words became a caress. "You ache to grind my flesh between your teeth, fill your mouth with my blood, gnaw on my bones."

A violent knot of hatred blossomed in Quinn's mind and he swayed on his feet. I swear, if the couch hadn't been between them he would have launched himself at Tezcatlipoca there and then. I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off, lost in the haze.

"Stop it," I hissed at the king, furious and afraid. I snapped my shields tight as a drum, and this time when his eyes met mine I didn't hear that howling wind.

It was enough to break the spell though. Quinn, dazed, shook his head and Tezcatlipoca laughed softly. "It is time you left, tiger."

"Sookie is my woman. I stay," Quinn said firmly, crossing his arms and planting his feet.

Shit. That belligerent set to his jaw meant trouble. "I'll be fine, honey," I said, more brightly than my confidence warranted. Daisy gave me a slight nod, which encouraged me. "I have his protection, remember?"

"Yes. Your woman will be safe."

Quinn opened his mouth to argue, but Tezcatlipoca shook his head and ordered, "Camargo, escort him out. Take Timas too."

"Si, El Viento. I will handle this." Camargo gave Timas a sharp look. "This bickering ends tonight."

Quinn looked about as happy with that as Timas did, but when I patted his arm and jerked my head at the door he went with them.

…

Tezcatlipoca wiped his mouth and pulled off his bib, tossing it on the couch beside him. The predator inside of him had receded and he sounded almost respectful when he asked, "What is this about, Spirit-keeper?"

Daisy, straight-backed besides me, spoke with equal politeness. "El Viento. I must find Hector. These jaguars know something."

He looked over at the jaguars, who had gotten to their feet. They were waiting stoically, but I knew how tense they really were. "This is about the body in the desert."

"Yes. I went to Camargo, but he refused to help."

"This is important enough to challenge his authority."

Daisy nodded solemnly. "Hector's quest for revenge will bring trouble down on your people and mine. I must find him before it is too late."

He rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully. "What did you hear from my jaguars, telepath?"

I cleared my throat, and pointed. "That one helped Hector move a body."

"Miguel. Is this true?"

Miguel was reluctant, but resigned. "Si, El Viento. Hector swore me to secrecy."

"Come here. Let the telepath see the truth."

Miguel did as he was told. His thoughts were tinged with regret: for himself, for Daisy, and for what he was about to show me – what was left of the body after Hector had done with it wasn't pretty, and that was before the coyotes got at it. I was thankful Miguel had only seen a glimpse of it as he and Hector heaved it into a shallow grave.

When I knew as much as he did, I let his hand go and turned to Daisy.

"Hector snatched the dead guy from Houston. He tortured him for names, the other people involved in setting that fire." I looked over at Tezcatlipoca. "Miguel didn't know any of that until after he leant Hector his truck to move the body. That's all Miguel helped with, but he knows Hector didn't stop there. He had a list he was working down."

Daisy was pissed. "How many more?"

"Miguel doesn't know. He doesn't know the names either. Hector kept that to himself." I was watching Tezcatlipoca, who did not look pleased.

He said quietly, "Miguel, Hector killed a man from another territory. You kept this from Camargo. From me. You know the punishment."

"Si, El Viento." Miguel bowed his head meekly and went to the shrine, kneeling before it and holding out his arm. I really, really wanted to leave when Tezcatlipoca picked up the obsidian dagger. I looked pleadingly at Daisy and then at the door, but she shook her head slightly.

Tezcatlipoca took Miguel's wrist, held it over the mirror and drew the dagger across it slowly, the blade biting deep. Blood poured out in a neat steady stream, glossy and red, falling onto the mirror. It sank into it, as if the obsidian were a pool of black water that had swallowed it whole, leaving only a faint wisp of smoke behind.

Daisy had leaned forward in her seat, and was watching the proceedings with interest. I glanced at the king's face, and shuddered at the naked hunger on it. His eyes were closed in ecstasy, the knife held to his mouth as his pink tongue flicked out lazily, licking along the blade, licking it clean drop by drop.

Not a fang in sight.

What the hell? He wasn't like any vampire I knew. He moved as fast as one though, setting the dagger down and snatching up his discarded bib to tie round Miguel's wrist as the jaguar slumped to the floor, unconscious. The other guard grabbed Miguel under the arms and dragged him into one of the bedrooms.

After they'd gone, Tezcatlipoca pulled his shirt open and hung the mirror round his neck, so it lay against his chest. But not before I saw the thick, puckered scar that ran the length of his sternum. He sat down, smiling dreamily, the same smile Jason wore after a good home cooked meal.

It creeped me out.

The mirror looked oily now, a rainbow film glistening on it. It set my teeth on edge to look at it, so I looked at the scar peeking out above it instead. Half to myself I whispered, "What the hell are you?"

I startled when he replied.

"I am not like other vampires." He laughed and threw his arms wide. "I am a living god."

Daisy shrugged when I looked at her for confirmation. Living? He wasn't pale like other vampires. I found myself looking in his eyes again. This time they were pitch black and smooth, like a deep lake on a windless night. I held my shields tight anyway, afraid he would do to me what he did to Quinn – I wasn't sure it was glamour. He just stretched lazily, rolling his shoulders and cracking his spine.

A million questions crowded the tip of my tongue, and before I could think better of it I blurted out, "How old are you?"

"I was old before the Conquistadors arrived and crushed my people."

Now history and dates weren't my strong point, but Eric had old me once that only a few vampires came to America with the first wave of colonists, most waited two hundred years until the human population – their food source – had increased. So vampires must have been as rare as hen's teeth before the Spanish. That in mind, I sounded a little suspicious when I asked, "Who turned you?"

"No-one. I was made another way."

Daisy looked as surprised as I felt.

"You don't have a maker?" I was incredulous. If there was a way to become immortal without one, wouldn't there be more like him? Whatever sort of vampire he was.

"No. No maker. Only priests, a blood ritual, and a sacrifice."

Daisy looked between us with a puzzled frown. I knew how she felt. I was burning with curiosity. "A sacrifice?"

He leaned back against the couch. "I was chosen to be Tezcatlipoca. For a year I was worshipped as a god. I ate only sacred food, wore the best gold and jewellery. I was given eight servants and four wives." He smiled broadly. "It was a good year."

I had an idea where this was going, but I couldn't help myself. "What happened next?" I asked, amazed.

"In the spring, in the month of Toxcatl, I feasted and danced and sang for a week. The priests anointed me with black ointment, painted a yellow stripe across my face. I mounted the steps to the temple, broke the clay flutes on the ground, lay on the altar. And then..." He moved the mirror aside, and ran a finger down the length of that terrible scar, and bared his teeth in a smile. "They sliced me open, cut out my heart and ate it."

"While you were alive?" I squeaked.

"Not for long." He laughed darkly. "Afterwards … I woke into darkness, and chanting. The priests were calling up a new heart from the land of the dead. There was a storm, lightening. I became Tezcatlipoca."

"That's nothing like a turning." I stared at him and shook my head. Would a stake even kill him? "You really aren't the same as other vampires."

He shrugged. "I can drink blood. I do not die, or age. I am like them in those things."

I wondered what else they had in common. Did he have fangs? I hadn't seen them. "Can you make children?"

"My jaguars are my children."

After the way he'd punished Miguel, he sure didn't believe in sparing the rod. Or in his case, the obsidian dagger. "So Zeus let you be king?" I couldn't work out why, if he wasn't one of them.

"Vampires respect strength. No-one is stronger than a god."

But he wasn't my God. Probably not a god at all, just a rare supe created by some weird magic. Maybe he was what Barry meant when he said he'd seen things scarier than vampires working for Stan Davis. After all, Texas and New Mexico were neighbours.

That reminded me to ask a couple more things while he was in the mood to answer. Things that were about me. "You gave me your protection. Why?"

"To spite that pig of a Spaniard, de Castro."

He said that with such venom, I wondered if the dislike went back to the Conquistadors and what they'd done to his people. "Is that why you got Quinn's mom away from Nevada too?"

"Yes. And for Camargo's son." He shrugged. "If she remained in Nevada, Timas would have no peace. Felipe would use her against them."

"So… Why did you threaten Quinn's family? Why did you care if I worked for Bardulf?"

"I didn't. Indiana called in a favour. He did not want Tennessee to have you."

"Oh." I guess that made sense. If Bardulf was going after Russell, Bartlett would want to limit his power. "Well, it's been real … pleasant chatting, your majesty, but I have to get back to work."

He blinked slowly. "We are not finished here." He turned to Daisy. "Hector has been busy. There have been other murders."

"Where? When?" Daisy asked, scowling.

"Three more. One in Austin in April."

Daisy cursed. "Hector disappeared for a weekend. He told me he needed space, but I knew he was lying. He couldn't look me in the eye."

"Little Rock in July."

Her jaw tightened. "That's when he took off."

Daisy wasn't the sort of woman to need or want comforting, but I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her. I knew what it was like to have a man disappear out of your life and not know if you would see him again.

"And Shreveport in October. That one … The body was covered in bite marks."

"Hector is becoming bolder, then," Daisy said grimly. A look passed between them. "I must put a stop to this."

"Houston is the key," Tezcatlipoca said. "You will need to return to Texas."

"Yes. Stan Davis will be a problem."

They exchanged a look I didn't understand, and Tezcatlipoca nodded.

"The wolves from Tooth 'n Claw won't betray Hector willingly," Daisy cautioned, and turned to me. "You will come with me, after the summit."

"Wait just a minute, lady. I'm not traipsing all over the South looking for your psycho ex. I only agreed to help tonight. This isn't my problem." It wasn't me who wound Hector up tighter than a drum and sent him off on a killing spree.

"You have no interest in twoey affairs? The tiger is just a walk on the wild side then."

She'd all but called me a fur-whore – that was the new slang for someone who hung around with twoeys for cheap thrills. I gritted my teeth. "This your fault. Not mine."

"Yes, it is my fault and I will fix it any way I can." She got a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Maybe I should reverse the spell I cast on Lattesta. See how you like being under the government's thumb."

"Wouldn't be much use to you then, would I?" I sassed.

"But you'll happily watch a whole community treated worse than dogs."

"Oh please. It won't come to that. You can't guilt me into helping you." I crossed my arms, ignoring the niggling doubt her words had started. Besides, I had my own problems to deal with. Bardulf shaped problems.

Tezcatlipoca put in his two cents. "What Hector is doing will be used to rally the humans and persuade them to muzzle shapeshifters. You have heard the talk. Forced registration. Microchips so there are no _unfortunate_ hunting accidents."

"So they can track us," Daisy put in.

I didn't want to believe the government would stoop that low.

"Houston cops are being issued with silver bullets," he added. "Scientists are demanding blood samples, tissue samples. Enough pressure, and the humans will nibble away at the freedom twoeys have until it is gone. _'Fair and equal''_ is already a lie."

"We have seen it before," Daisy said solemnly. "Twoeys will suffer for what Hector is doing. All twoeys. My people, his," she gestured at Tezcatlipoca, "and yours. Your man, the tiger. All the twoeys you know and care about. This will change everything for them. Maybe you can stand by and watch that happen. I cannot."

"There is a time to pick a side, and it is now," Tezcatlipoca said.

Bill had said once that the conflict between supes and humans would test my loyalties, force me to do things I found distasteful. This was downright inconvenient, possibly dangerous and probably disastrous, but I knew in my bones they were right.

If Hector left a trail of bloody, bitten corpses across the country, things would deteriorate. If it got as bad as Houston everywhere…

It would be awful. For Quinn, for Sam. For every twoey I knew.

Oh hell. I couldn't watch that happen either. "Fine. But it better not take more than a week," I said begrudgingly. I'd had enough time off work as it was.

…

Daisy and I left shortly after that. I checked my phone as we walked towards the stairs. Quinn was in the bar with Camargo and Timas, and I hoped things were calmer. I paused to type a reply, letting Quinn know I was on my way back to work.

"You should take more care with that tongue of yours," Daisy said. "Tezcatlipoca is dangerous."

I side-eyed her, not sure what she meant. "I speak my mind. Not my problem if y'all aren't used to that."

She stopped, hand on the door to the stairwell, and tilted her head at me. Her eyes flicked over my face, searching for something. "I doubt Tezcatlipoca has ever spoken of his creation to anyone outside la familia. No vampire speaks about their origins so frankly."

"Maybe your winning personality needs work," I shot back, irritated. Daisy wasn't exactly warm and cuddly. "Did you ever ask any of them? If you just treat them like people–"

"Of course, that's the way to impress a proud race. Treat them like ordinary folk!" She slapped her thigh, and wheezed out a laugh. Gee, I was glad I'd tickled her funny bone. "You think you're that special?"

"Well, it works," I muttered. Plenty of vampires had talked to me. I bet she didn't know Sophie Ann's real name.

She ignored me, speaking half to herself, "Maybe you did it to Northman too. Hmm. That could explain it. No matter, it will come in handy in Houston."

I frowned. "What will come in handy? What are you talking about?

She narrowed her eyes at me. "The fairy gift of charm."

…

Apparently certain fairies had the ability to charm answers out of a stone, as Daisy put it. Or in my case, out of tight-lipped vampires.

Not that Daisy had more than the vaguest idea about how it worked, but she had sensed I was doing something to manipulate Tezcatlipoca. The phrase silver-tongued came to mind. She couldn't tell me if it worked on other supes. Thankfully, after that revelation she left me to my own thoughts as we went down the stairs. I went over all the times vampires had spilling their guts to me with unexpected frankness.

Sophie-Ann. Godfrey. Alexei.

Eric. It had been very out of character for him to discuss his human past in the middle of Fangtasia, of all places. I was so deep in thought that I didn't notice a vampire was in the stairwell with us until he spoke.

"Miss Sookie," he said in a familiar drawl, smiling up at me from the landing below us.

"Bubba! Whatever are you doing here?" I could hear my own accent thickening, I was that pleased to see him. He was wearing fatigues, and I couldn't help smiling. "Great outfit, you look real handsome."

"Thank you, ma'am." He looked down at his clothes. "Mister de Castro gave me these."

Oh. _Oh._ Well, that explained how Eric found out Felipe's plans. I pursed my lips. It would be just like Eric to plant Bubba there as a spy without a thought for his safety. He'd never had much patience with the damaged vampire.

"Did they treat you right in Vegas, Bubba? They didn't make you sing?"

"No ma'am," he said slowly. "They were real nice to me there. Always were."

Confusion clouded his face, and I could've kicked myself for unsettling him with past memories. "That's good. Are you going back there?"

He shook his head, and his fangs ran down. That surprised me, but the effect lost some of its menace when he wrinkled his nose and sniffed loudly. "You smell might strange, Miss Sookie."

"That's the tiger. Her man, Quinn," Daisy said calmly. So calmly it was hard to tell what she thought of Bubba, but I shot her a sharp look anyway, ready to defend him. He was always protective of me.

Bubba looked puzzled. "No. Miss Sookie's married to Mister Merlotte. He don't smell like a cat. Ain't that right, Sookie?"

"Oh, um. Sam and I got divorced, Bubba." This was mighty awkward.

He frowned like he was doing a particularly hard sum. "Wasn't that long ago you got hitched."

You could take the King to Vegas, but his heart stayed planted firmly in the South. There was a distinct note of disapproval in his voice. I didn't blame him. Hell, I was unhappy with my marital track record too.

"Marriage is a lot harder than I thought," I said gently. "Things just didn't work out."

"Well, you gotta work at it," he said, still frowning. "Not give up so quick, like you did with Mister Eric."

"Eric divorced me," I said, forgetting to be gentle in my annoyance.

"He did? That's no way to treat a nice girl like you," he said, lips twisting in an angry snarl.

Oh-oh. Bubba might well be heading back to Louisiana and I could see that getting all kinds of ugly. I didn't want any trouble for him. "It wasn't his fault, Bubba."

"It wasn't?"

I hesitated, searching for a way to explain that he'd understand. "It wasn't what Eric wanted. His daddy wanted him to marry someone else."

I didn't think I'd said that out loud before.

"Oh You gotta do what your daddy says," he said, nodding sagely. "Bet Mister Eric was mighty upset leaving a fine woman like you."

"Bubba!" a voice called up the stairwell, much sharper and colder than my earlier greeting. Oskar and another vamp joined us in a blur, saving me from further explanations.

"I told you to stay put," Oskar snapped at Bubba, barely sparing me and Daisy a glance. "Retract those fangs."

"Sorry, Mister Ashwyn," Bubba said, and I didn't like the sheepish look on his face one bit. "I'm a little peckish."

"Again?" Oskar looked at him suspiciously. Then he said, dryly and with a sharp glance at me, "Of course. The smell of tomcat. Most of us don't find that at all appetising." He turned to his companion. "Get him to the safe house."

Once Bubba had gone, Oskar looked at Daisy and then at me, dark eyes impressing the importance of obeying him with no need for glamour. "I wouldn't say a word about seeing him here, unless you want de Castro to do us all a favour and end him."

It was probably a good thing that he blurred away before I could give him a piece of my mind.

…

I didn't see Quinn when I got downstairs. Work – that thing I was actually being paid to do – kept us apart for the rest of the night. I fretted about Bardulf, wanting to put my plan in motion, but there was still some fall-out from the murders and that kept me busy. Geiszler gave me an odd look from time to time, but he didn't ask what was bothering me.

Much later, Diantha walked me to our floor. I stopped at her door, looking wistfully towards mine and my bed, and said, "I need call your uncle."

"Aboutdamntime," she muttered, back to me as she opened her door.

"It's kinda delicate. Is there a way to speak to him privately?"

She gave me a sharp look. "Come in."

She waited until I passed her, and then stuck her head out into the corridor again, glancing up and down before she shut the door and locked it.

I looked around for somewhere to sit. The pile of clothes on the chair had grown. None of them were colourful. I wondered if Diantha felt ill at ease in the staid outfits she'd been wearing to blend in with the humans at the summit.

She ducked into the closet. "Unclegaveme …"

The rest of her words were muffled as she rooted around in there. The item she put on the desk a few minutes later wasn't a phone like I expected. It was a round, fist-sized rock, mottled dark green and red, polished and carved all over with intricate curving lines.

"A mindstone," she said before I could ask. She spoke slowly. "Demon magic, one of a pair. Can't be overheard."

"Oh." Wasn't tonight just full to bursting with new things? I'd only paddled in the shallows of the supe world before; now the tide had tugged me out of my depth, where my toes couldn't reach the bottom.

I sat down in the chair Diantha pulled over and eyed the rock warily, reluctant to touch it with Tezcatlipoca and his mirror fresh in my thoughts. "How do we...?"

"Putyerhandontopofmine," she said as she curled her hand over it.

Better her hand than the stone. I reached out tentatively, and met an invisible cushion of repulsion, like two magnets that didn't want to meet. I pushed through it and my hand was on hers before I could identify where I'd felt that before.

Diantha's skin was hot and dry. Power hummed up through my palm, my wrist, my arm, and an image blossomed from the stone, unfolding above our hands, watery and transparent like an ectoplasmic reconstruction. Mr Cataliades, in a black silk dressing gown, beamed broadly at me.

"Wow," I breathed. "This must come in handy for your clients."

His eyebrows lifted and his deep voice came through, clear as a bell. "This is for family only. How are you, goddaughter?"

I felt a flush of warmth at the term, followed by embarrassment. "I'm real sorry for not getting in touch sooner, Mr C. I didn't –"

He waved me quiet. "I am glad to see you, but I assume you had a good reason for using this method."

"Oh. Yes. I don't want you to think I only call when I'm in trouble, but–"

He chuckled, his belly shaking. "But what are godfathers for, eh? Now, how can I help?"

"I need something collecting. From Memphis."

He was all business. "When?"

"As soon as possible. Tomorrow, in the day would be best." Before the summit finished, before Bardulf got back and thought to go looking.

"And the nature of this item?"

"It's a strong box." I rattled off Finch's address, and described where in his attic it was hidden. And then I explained what was in it, and why I needed it.

Mr Cataliades looked thoughtful. "Niall would never let a vampire take control of your life."

"But Quinn's life…" I was watching his image closely.

"Ah," he said gravely, his eyes confirming my fears. He wasn't sure Niall would do the same for Quinn either.

"Yeah. Bardulf thinks Niall won't object if I go _willingly._"

"Because of your loyalty to the tiger. And are you loyal?"

"Yes," I said firmly.

He sat back, fingering the lapel of his gown as he thought. "There is another option. Tell Eric. Then the attempt at blackmail will fall flat."

I sighed. "Only if Eric believes me. Besides, Bardulf won't give up. He'll just try something else. This – if I'm right about what's in that box – this will force him to leave Quinn alone."

"Blackmail needs to be handle carefully."

I squared my shoulders. "I know."

He eyed me for a moment, and then nodded. "When do you return to Memphis?"

"Not right away. In about a week, I think. I agreed to go to Texas with a witch called Daisy Riverstone." He sat up straighter at the name, and I gave him a speculative look. "You know her. Is she trustworthy?"

"Within limits. She is powerful too." He looked like he might ask what I was doing with her, but he held back. "Hm. Delaying your return to Memphis might work in your favour. I suspect Bardulf will wait until you are in his territory to make his move. So he can control everything."

I grinned. "I thought that too."

"Good. You are learning. A few days wait may push Bardulf off balance. And it will give me time to do some digging of my own in Memphis." He flashed a toothy grin and I felt Diantha's hand tighten under mine. I didn't fancy being in Bardulf's shoes right then.

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "I'll owe you a favour for this, right? That's how it works."

He laughed, eyes twinkling. "This is on the house." Then he sobered. "It can be my contribution to your protection, goddaughter."

The regret in his voice made me ask, "Is there a particular downside to Niall's protection? Beyond him screening my calls, I mean."

He said cautiously, "The most obvious is that he is envoy, and he has enemies. I assume that is why he hasn't claimed you as direct kin, which would make you a more appealing target to them."

"And the less obvious?"

"He is wily, and quite insistent on getting things his way, as you have found. But he has a soft spot for you."

Even Bardulf had noticed Niall indulged me. "Well, I am his great-grandaughter."

"Hm." His eyes twinkled again. "You could, if you had a mind to, use that affection against him. To curb his interference."

I smiled back. "I could, couldn't I?"

…

Talking to Mr C had relieved some of my worry, but my body was sagging with exhaustion as I fumbled to unlock our room. I registered Quinn's mind inside and sighed. No flopping straight into bed.

"Hey babe," he said, wrapping me in two warm, strong arms once I was inside.

I nuzzled into him, yawning. "Still nothing from Bardulf?"

"No. So this plan..." He pulled back but kept his arms around me. "What have you got on Bardulf?"

"I don't _have _it, exactly. Not yet. I read Finch a couple days ago." It wasn't a lie – I just wasn't mentioning that I'd done it again, today, for Neb. "Finch kept records, back in Memphis. Records that Bardulf wouldn't want anyone finding."

"Where?" he said, eager.

"Oh, it's under control. Mr Cataliades is getting them tomorrow, in the day."

He let go of me, and maybe if I hadn't been so tired I would have realised a storm was brewing behind his eyes. "You spoke to him?"

"Yeah. Just now." I sat down on the bed and slipped off my heels so I could rub my feet. "I hope he gets there before Bardulf gets any bright ideas about searching Finch's place." Lord knows that vampire was paranoid enough to think Finch might squirrel away some insurance, unless he dismissed humans as incapable of that level of planning.

Quinn was still frowning. "I could have got it. We'll be back in Memphis on Sunday."

Oh damn. I hadn't told him. "About that…" Rip it off like a band-aid I thought, and spoke almost as fast as Diantha. "Daisy wants me to go to Texas. On Sunday."

He did a double take. "What?"

"It'll just be a few days." I hoped. "There's been other murders. Hector needs to be stopped."

"That's Daisy's problem." He was stood in front of me. "What about Bardulf? We need to deal with him."

"He won't do anything until I'm back. Mr Cataliades reckoned so too."

He stared at me, jaw tight. _She's g__ot it all sorted out. Without me._

I bit down on a harsh response to his bitterness and waited. After a moment he sighed, rubbing a hand over his scalp.

"How long for?" _If I rearrange that meeting for Monday..._

I winced. "Um, Daisy doesn't want you coming, Quinn. You're too well known, and if we need to go undercover… And the twoeys we need to talk to are twitchy enough." I didn't add that Daisy thought he was too hot-tempered as well.

There was a belligerent set to his jaw. "So, you're running off to Texas without me. Just like that. No discussion. What happened to being a team?"

He was determined to pick a fight. If I hadn't been so darned tired, if his accusation hadn't slipped into old wounds from Sam, I might have been less defensive.

"For goodness sake, Quinn. You gallivant all over the place for work. It's only a few days."

His voice was deep and harsh. "You need protection."

"I'll ask Meredith," I snapped. I could sense his anger coiling and uncoiling. It wasn't helping with mine.

_It should be me protecting her._ _Not the damn fairies. _He shifted restlessly, pacing in front of me, his eyes dark. "Going to Texas now is fucking stupid with Bardulf hanging over us."

"This all boils down some stupid macho need to protect me," I said. "If Bardulf makes a move before I come back, I'm sure you can handle him. After all, he's _always_ treated you so fairly."

It was the first time I'd brought up the things he'd said about Bardulf to encourage me to move to Memphis, but I was passed holding my tongue.

Quinn reared back as if I'd slapped him. _Damn bloodsuckers. Bardulf. Northman. _One of those crystal clear thoughts reached me, perhaps propelled by his anger: Andre, dusty and bloody in the ruins, and then Felipe, cold and impassive.

Bardulf's crazy ideas unfurled in my subconscious and my gut filled with ice.

Quinn scowled. "I knew it. You think this is all my fault."

"Is it?" I said coldly. There was no excuse for what I said next but I couldn't shake the awful fear that I'd been duped, and I couldn't stop the words. "How much of it is your fault? Because now I think on it, Andre's death was real convenient for Felipe."

"What the fuck Sookie?" he growled, completely shocked. "I killed that fucker for you. Now you're throwing that back in my face?"

I didn't back down. "You dropped off the planet after the summit. Right after. No time to make even one phone call, Quinn. Felipe must've moved real fast. But then your mom was in Nevada for a long time before that, wasn't she?"

"No. It wasn't like that." I reached out and grabbed his hand. He glared down at his wrist, but he didn't pull away. "You don't trust me. Fucking wonderful. Well, go ahead, read my mind. Felipe took Mama after Rhodes. You know why he waited until then? Because I couldn't do anything about it from a fucking hospital bed. I took an arrow for you. My legs were fucked. If you remember."

I swallowed. "I remember." Shit. He was telling the truth. Why had I given Bardulf's insane theories any credence, even for a second?

Quinn pulled his hand out of mine. "We could've got out, Frannie and me. Know why we didn't?"

I shook my head.

"Because I went back for you. She tried to stop me. That's why we were inside when the hotel collapsed."

I gasped, and covered my mouth. "Oh Quinn... I didn't know."

"And what were you doing? Rescuing Northman," he said bitterly. "That was his blood, so I forgave you. But you had to know how much that hurt."

He turned on his heel, crossed the room in quick strides, and disappeared into the bathroom. The door shut with a firm click, and a second later I heard the shower.

I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered, "I'm sorry," as I sank onto the bed, full of regret.

Lord, if he found out I'd rushed to Eric's rescue without his blood in me, it would kill him.

…

**Footnote: **It always struck me as far fetched, all those secretive vampires telling Sookie their pasts. Fairy 'charm' seems a good explanation, even if I suspect it was really just a convenient way to get around the limitations of first person narrative.


	36. War Council and a Reversal of Fortunes

Thanks for all the reviews! This one is hot off the press so give me a shout if I missed any typos.

Quick reminder: the **New Blood Awards** are taking nominations until 12th June. Anyone who started writing SVM/TB fics from May 1, 2013 – May 29, 2015 is eligible. I've been nominated - thank you! - but please hustle over there and nominate any new writer who's caught your eye. Nominating is super-easy and it really does encourage us to write.

And now ... I think you'll like this one.

* * *

**War Council and a Reversal of Fortunes**

* * *

Bartlett was in the corridor outside his suite, in his shirt sleeves, fists on his hips as he spoke to one of his retinue. He looked up as we came towards him and smiled.

"Ah, Eric. Russell loves you in blue."

"This old thing?" I joked, waving at my expensive suit. "It does match my eyes." I could almost hear Marie rolling hers behind me. She hadn't quite grasped the benefits of appearing relaxed.

"Takahashi." Bartlett nodded to my second. "In light of the circumstances, you and your colleague may stand guard at the door."

"Thank you, your majesty," Goro said, bowing politely.

Once we were alone Bartlett dropped the act, tension tightening every line of his body. I thought better of asking if Russell ever rested in his own rooms – the suite smelt strongly of him, but resting places would be a touchy subject after Felipe's attack on me.

"Where's Neb?" Bartlett asked as we sat on opposite couches.

"Ah. Busy elsewhere."

He relaxed slightly, revealing some of his concern was for his old friend, but his words remained clipped. "Oskar is at the council meeting?"

"Yes. Presenting my claim against de Castro."

"You have enough evidence already?" He grinned then, a wicked smirk that made his hazel eyes glint dangerously. "Impressive, Eric."

I inclined my head at the compliment. His eyes followed my arm, thrown along the back of the couch, and he saw the heavy signet ring on my hand.

"You have spoken to Miss Kingfisher, I see."

"Yes. Does Russell know?" I asked.

"No. That is your secret to tell." He turned towards the door. "Speak of the devil."

Russell came in, carrying a laptop, and cursing under his breath. Until he saw me. Then he strode around the couch with concern in his eyes that matched his words. "Eric, you are well? Your people?"

"Yes," I said simply, raising an eyebrow. Sometimes I thought Russell's openness in private was as much of a mask to his true feelings as the usual vampire stoicism, but this was probably genuine.

He tilted his head. "Hm. You don't _look _furious."

"Ah." I permitted myself a smirk. "Revenge is a dish best served cold."

Russell raised an eyebrow, and looked askance at his husband, who nodded slightly.

"Checking my feelings match my face?" I asked, amused.

Bartlett shrugged unapologetically. Russell winked at me as he moved to set up the laptop on the coffee table and said breezily, "Bart does like to show off."

Bartlett snorted. "Russell likes bragging about my ability. Ignore him."

Russell finished and stepped back, taking a seat besides his husband. Stan's face appeared on the screen moments later. I recognised the room he was in from my stay at his Dallas 'ranch'.

"I'm alone," Stan confirmed tersely. "What happened Eric?"

I explained, briefly, about the assassin (dead at her own hand), Yuri (soon to be dead at Felipe's), and both about to be returned-to-sender. I was awarded a round of fangy grins, and Russell chuckled out loud.

He stopped abruptly when I outlined Tennessee's involvement and his interest in Mississippi. By the time I'd detailed Kentucky and Wisconsin's probable assistance, the smiles were gone. They all looked grim. Stan was the first to break the silence.

"So there's more between Wisconsin and Felipe than a bribe over Nadia's trial."

"Yes. But that cosy friendship will be severed shortly." My voice was curt. It galled me that I hadn't acted on the information from Bill's database sooner.

Russell sat forward, impatient. "How?"

"Certain incriminating facts will come to light. Facts Wisconsin believes are in Felipe's sole possession." No-one asked what those facts were, but Stan grunted his approval. I added, "And I am petitioning Narayana for compensation."

"Good," Stan said. "Felipe is on shaky ground with his clan as it is, this may eliminate him. Tennessee, however, concerns me."

Scowling at the coffee table Russell muttered, "Fucking Hugh."

"Wasn't that what started this?" Bartlett said drily, but the tension deflated any humour in his words. Stan scrutinised the less-than-happy couple, lips pursed as he waited for an explanation.

Russell cursed softly and admitted, "Hugh proposed a marriage. Twenty years ago. Clearly the refusal stung more than I thought."

"You said he only became a threat recently," Stan said tightly.

"So we believed," Bartlett murmured, deep in thought, his fingers drumming softly on the couch beside him.

"With good reason," Russell added tersely. "Remember how impoverished Kentucky was at Rhodes? I had evidence Hugh was draining his resources in preparation for a takeover."

Stan leaned closer to the camera. "If Mississippi was his goal all along, that was a diversion."

"One that served two purposes," I said, mind racing. "Moving against Russell would leave Bardulf exposed to an attack from the north. Weakening Kentucky might prevent that."

Russell disagreed. "Or antagonise Kentucky into it. Isaiah was beginning to suspect Bardulf was behind his run of bad luck."

Something else occurred to me. "And then you married, giving Bardulf another obstacle. Perhaps that pushed him to act for Nadia at Rhodes."

"Yes," Russell spat the word like a bullet and Bartlett patted him absently on the thigh. "That bitch probably dangled Mississippi in front of him like a bag of blood."

There was a short silence. I suspected we were all imagining the hellish prospect of that pair carving up the South between them. Stan broke it. "How deep was the animosity between Isaiah and Bardulf? Would they trust each other now?"

"There was distrust, a few skirmishes," Russell said. "Either that was an act, or something has changed."

"They reacted differently at Nadia's trial," I said slowly. "Kentucky didn't show an interest in saving her."

"No," Russell agreed. "They were cordial on the surface, but not enough to make me suspect they were acting together. As they seem to be now."

"I knew Isaiah," Stan said, frowning. "Six centuries ago. In Austria." He looked at me, and his eyes held a question. "Your eldest child was there. We shared a nest briefly."

Ah. I was in Northern France then, but when Ocella popped up for one of his _lovely _visits I sent Karin to Oskar. And Oskar and I weren't on the best terms at the time, hence Stan's questioning look. I dredged up the explanation we'd used. "Yes. Oskar needed a bodyguard."

He accepted it with a nod. "Karin was fierce even then."

"Yes, yes," Russell said briskly. "Can we skip the reminiscing and focus on Isaiah?"

"The Isaiah I knew then was cautious," Stan said. "Cautious, but greedy. Naked aggression was not his style."

"That has been my experience of him," Russell agreed, narrowing his eyes.

Bartlett shook himself and came out of his trance, his eyes tightening. "I agree. Kentucky would not risk an open attack on Eric, here at the summit, with Bardulf who he has no reason to trust. Not unless he thought someone else had his back."

"Ohio," I said grimly. Literally had his back, Ohio was his neighbour to the north.

"Exactly," Bartlett said. "That is where the danger lies."

Russell swore vehemently. That particular danger was Bartlett's neighbour.

Stan blinked. "An unholy trinity, indeed. Ohio is a fresh face, I know little about him. What do you think he is after?"

"It's perfectly fucking simple," Russell said acidly. "Bardulf gets Mississippi, Ohio gets Indiana. And I don't give a fuck whether they let Kentucky alone or crush him between them."

"This is a reaction to us, our strength," I said, admitting to myself that Oskar and Neb had been right.

"Perhaps," said Bartlett, as serious as I had ever seen him.

"You knew provoking civil war in Amun was a risk," Stan said, with an undercurrent of disdain. Lucky bastard didn't have to worry about his own clan: Zeus was functioning much better.

After a minute of silence I said, "I have other news that might provide a solution." Or be a catalyst for more trouble. All three of them looked at me impatiently. "Iowa wants in."

"How serious is she?" Stan asked sharply.

"Enough to propose," I said laconically, and the atmosphere relaxed considerably.

"Congratulations," Bartlett said lightly. "Two proposals in your first year on the throne. He has you beat, Russ."

Russell dropped his fangs and pouted. It looked ridiculous, but Bartlett smiled anyway. Russell dropped the fake expression and his eyes glittered dangerously. He said slyly, "If Iowa joined us, Ohio would think twice before attacking you, my love."

"Hm." Bartlett reached out a finger and ran it down Russell's arm, shoulder to wrist, his eyes darkened when it reached bare skin. "I still prefer Alabama. Zola would give Bardulf another reason to leave you be."

A flash of irritation crossed Stan's face as he watched their love-in. "Now who's not focused," he murmured. "Did you accept Eric?"

"Not yet."

"Good, Iowa may not be the best choice," he said, throwing a cutting glance at Russell. "And marriage clearly addles the brain."

Russell rolled his eyes. "Afraid of being left on the self? You could always marry Isabel."

Stan grimaced. "I merely meant Alabama makes more sense for Eric. Another Southern state is fine by me."

"Marry Zola yourself then," Russell said, but there was no sting in it and Stan just grinned back.

"No-one objects to Iowa joining us." I made it a statement.

"Not at all," Stan said, almost warmly. "Keira is a formidable queen, and she shares our goals. Isabel would agree."

Bartlett and Russell exchanged a look, as if deciding whose turn it was to dispose of a body. Bartlett drew the short straw for once, and turned to me. "It is early to commit to a queen, Eric."

Ignoring any other possible reason for his statement I cocked my head under his steady gaze and asked, "You'd rather I married Zola?"

Russell chuckled. "Then Stan marries Iowa, and we gain two birds."

"Stop playing matchmaker," Stan grumbled. "We have enough queens with you around, Russell."

"Why stick to the old ways?" Bartlett said, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. "Marriage alliances are too restrictive. This" – he gestured between us all lazily – "works better. It is more flexible, and it will be easier to explain to the masses when the time comes." Stan made a disapproving noise, but didn't argue. He had almost accepted the inevitability of further exposure. Bartlett continued thoughtfully, "Perhaps it would be better if Keira and Zola join us freely. Maude might be tempted on board once her marriage ends. Then I imagine Michigan might follow."

There was a deep and stunned silence.

"That would give us half of Amun," I said slowly. Had that been Bartlett's ambition all along?

"That could provoke Ohio into something rash," Stan warned. "Not to mention Illinois. It might tear Amun apart."

"Or unite it," Bartlett said calmly. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

He certainly dreamed big, didn't he? Before we could begin picking holes in the idea, his phone chimed.

"Indiana … Let him through. Stan, New Mexico wishes to speak to you."

…

The woman who came in behind New Mexico was tall and plain-featured, with high cheekbones and long black hair tied back in a braid. Her eyes lingered on me, but I didn't recognise her. She had power though, I could sense that much.

Stan growled, soft and menacing, and said: "Daisy Riverstone."

Ah. The witch. I looked her up and down with more interest.

Her eyes flashed. "Disappointed? I'm told my grandmother was prettier."

I smirked. "Not at all. You sound just like her when you're pissed."

The challenge in her eyes faded but she remained wary, eyes flicking between us and settling on Stan, who looked distinctly pissed himself.

Tezcatlipoca stood beside her, legs wide and arms folded. He raised his chin at Stan. "Tell them yet, Texas?"

"We had pressing matters to discuss." Stan said curtly. Speaking to the room he continued, "There's been another murder by the wolves."

"Same M.O.?" I asked sharply.

"Yes. Four fucking weeks ago. Those fools in Amarillo didn't tell me until now, and they did a piss-poor job of covering it up." He'd been having difficulties with the sheriff there. He took off those ridiculous glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Bad news then, like we needed more. I shared a glance with Russell and Bartlett and waited. Stan looked his age when he lowered his hand. "The FBI got wind of it somehow. I barely salvaged the situation."

Russell hissed. "How many risks did you take?"

"Too many. We had to break into the police department, remove evidence. They know it, but they can't prove it was us."

"And what does Tez have to do with this?" Bartlett said, looking at New Mexico with curiosity.

_Tez? _Russell shot his husband a look, obviously just as puzzled by the casual familiarity as I was.

"He was the one who told me about it," Stan admitted, his jaw tightening.

"I hear things from la familia," Tezcatlipoca said, not bothering to hide his amusement at Stan's embarrassment. "It was my pleasure to pass that on to my neighbour."

"Of course," Bartlett said in a tone that indicated he knew full well how much _Tez _was enjoying rubbing his spies in Texas in Stan's face, and making sure we all knew Stan owed him a favour. "Sit down Tez, and tell us what you want."

_Tez _just shrugged and sat his ass down next to me. The scent of spoiled meat reached me, rank and pungent, and I resisted the urge to move away.

"I have a lead on your rabid wolf."

He gestured at Daisy. We all looked at the witch, who squared her shoulders and met Stan's glare with one of her own that was just as fierce.

Tez cleared his throat to regain our attention. "We discovered another murder. The first, perhaps."

"When and where?" I asked, turning to face him. This close it was obvious he was not vampire. I could feel a slight warmth radiating from him.

"A year ago. In my territory. The victim was human. One of the Chosen, snatched from Texas."

Stan hissed.

"Si, I take responsibility. One of my jaguars was involved. He has been punished, and I will make reparations for the poaching." Stan nodded in acceptance, but his eyes were hard. "Unfortunately the desert ate most of the body, so I cannot tell you more."

"But you know who killed him," I stated, looking at Daisy.

"Yes. A wolf called Hector," she said. Stan growled softly at the name, but she ignored him. "He was in New Mexico with me, but he disappeared in the summer. To hunt down the rest of the scum involved in the house fire, even though I disapproved."

"You expect me to believe you weren't part of this?" Stan said harshly. "You had no such scruples about killing Chosen in Houston."

"Things change." She raised her chin defiantly. "I need to return to Texas. Without fear of interference from your people."

"Why the fuck should I agree to that, witch? You and your band of righteous crusaders caused me enough trouble."

"I can stop Hector," she said, implacable. "And there are people in Houston who may be in contact with him."

I caught Bartlett's eye, and then Russell's. Damn. I drew the short straw. "Stan. It is in our interests to resolve these murders," I reminded him.

He opened his mouth, but a phone rang shrilly. Russell cursed and tugged it out of his suit as he got up, saying, "Betty Joe, an emergency." He blurred into one of the adjacent bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

We looked at each other. Well, fuck. Didn't this night keep getting better? Bartlett's eyes widened and flicked after Russell, and I almost groaned. Russell must be agitated; Bartlett could sense him, through their blood tie and his empathy. That was sometimes a disadvantage.

Tezcatlipoca ploughed ahead, ignoring the interruption. "Texas. You must let this woman into your territory. She wishes to stop this. The killings will harm her people."

Stan's face smoothed blank in a flash and he eyed Tezcatlipoca coldly. "How long has she been in your territory?"

The Aztec vampire shrugged his shoulders. "She asked for sanctuary. I gave it."

"You knew I was looking for her."

"You were harassing her people." Tez yawned disrespectfully, and that foul smell got worse. Perhaps those rumours that he ate flesh were true.

"You value them over us," Stan stated, his words calm but fire in his eyes.

Tez laughed throatily, and it was full of challenge. "Us? I am not one of you, as you remind me often enough. But I am a king. Don't overstep your bounds."

I cast an appealing glance at Bartlett but he was distracted, still looking towards the bedroom. It fell to me to end this pissing contest. Before Stan could speak I butted in. "Stan. You were looking for Daisy for this very purpose, and here she is, willing to end these murders."

"I don't trust her," he said, stubbornness in his voice. "Would you let her into Louisiana?"

I looked at Daisy, and then back at him. "Yes. If she wished to investigate the murder in Shreveport."

"Texas, what do you need to allow her entrance? A blood oath?" Tez asked, sneering. "An escort? I will provide one."

I resisted the temptation to clip the back of his head. Antagonising Stan was not the way to get his co-operation. Predictably, Stan took offence. "And exactly how many of your jaguars do you propose I let in? Do you take me for an idiot?"

"Name your own escort then," Tez said, leaning back against the couch.

"Someone from my retinue," Stan said without hesitation. He flicked his eyes lazily to Daisy and drawled, "A vampire."

Daisy hissed. "Like that bastard Joseph? No way. I don't trust dead men."

For fuck's sake. A vampire wouldn't be able to watch her in the day, and Stan knew the witch would object. I could cheerfully knock their thick skulls together. I growled in frustration.

Russell blurred back into the room, eyes blazing as they swept over us. "Eric looks ready to kill," he said bluntly. "I take it things are going as well in here as they are in Mississippi." He glared at the witch. "Your Hector has been busy. Another body was dumped in Jackson and the press have wind of it already."

Daisy swore softly.

"While the witch is there with you. What a coincidence." Stan's words dripped with sarcasm.

Daisy ignored him, and look steadfastly at Russell. "I should go to Jackson then. While the trail is fresh."

"What can you find that my investigators can't?" Russell asked, his lip curling.

Her eyes flashed and she stood taller. "Twoeys won't talk dead men, but they'll talk to me. And I have a mind-reader. You don't."

Sookie? How did she –

"You may be some use then," Bartlett said, eyes narrowed at her. "But Stan is right, something is off about this. I do not like the thought of her loose in your state unsupervised, Russ."

Russell eyed the witch. "Hm. What do you suggest, my love?"

"A liaison. A vampire to oversee her, as Stan suggested." Bartlett looked at Daisy. "One acceptable to you, witch. This will go better if we can co-operate."

Amusement played around her eyes. "Okay then. Northman."

I blinked.

"Eric is a king, not your lackey," Stan said icily, in a tone that said she was a complete idiot.

Daisy shrugged. "He is the only vampire acceptable to me. Take it or leave it."

"You are being deliberately difficult," Russell said to the witch, sneering.

"He's your ally, isn't he? He'll look after your interest in this. Besides, he owes me a debt."

"I owed your grandmother," I corrected. Death was usually considered the end of such things. Final death, anyway.

"But you'll honour it," she said confidently.

It was tempting, and not just for the possibility of Sookie's company. A few days away from the throne…

Bartlett gave me a long speculative look which made me squelched the flicker of enthusiasm I was feeling. He said thoughtfully, "We need someone we can trust to keep tabs on the situation, someone competent. And it might be better if Eric doesn't return to Louisiana as expected."

"How so?" I asked.

"If I was de Castro, I would have a contingency plan. A trap ready to snap closed once you relax, back on familiar ground..."

"You may have a point," I conceded. The annoyingly knowing gleam in his eyes said he was well aware of how much the prospect of this trip tempted me, and how much Sookie was a factor in that, but I ignored it.

Russell looked between me and Daisy, and grinned suddenly. "There is a certain … rapport between you."

"And Eric is good at sneaking around other people's territory," Stan said, eyes narrowed.

I eyed Daisy for a moment. "Very well. If it can be resolved in a few days."

…

The witch and I moved to the mini-bar in the corner. We sat with our backs to the others, but I kept half an ear on their conversation. Tezcatlipoca was very interested in the fines Felipe was about to be hit with, possibly interested enough to attack Felipe again while he was distracted.

Maybe Felipe would lose a leg this time. Or his head.

"So Jackson first. Then Houston," I said. "What about involving the Caucus?"

"Those guys?" Daisy snorted. "They have their noses so far up Washington's ass they can't smell the stink."

"Hm. I take it their response to the Chosen has been … less robust than you'd like."

"Yep." She took a drink of her whisky, and side-eyed me. "The places we're going, they won't be welcome. You won't either."

"I've been in worse places than the furry underbelly of shapeshifter culture," I said dryly. "I have a contact on the Caucus. Elaine Randall. She is hard-headed enough to be useful, should we need things … cleaning up afterwards."

"After we've done the dirty work," she muttered. "Okay. As long as the bitch doesn't interfere." She took a mouthful of whisky and grimaced as she swallowed it. "Your mind-reader will be more use to us."

"She's not mine," I corrected automatically. "She wasn't when you met her in Tyler either."

"Wasn't she?" Daisy side-eyed me curiously for a moment and frowned. "Your child didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?"

She leaned towards me and dropped her voice. "It was your name she called out as she came round on my brother's pool table."

"What?" The word exploded from me and a cold, sick thrill pulsed in my blood. It was only by sheer force of will I didn't crush the bottle of blood in my hand.

No, Pam had not mentioned that at all.

I turned away and took a gulp of blood, swallowing the deep sense of betrayal with it. I caught Bartlett watching me out of the corner of my eye. Fucking nosy empaths. I switched to Daisy's native tongue to spite him.

"_How did you get Sookie to agree to this?" _I was burning to know that.

"_Called in a debt." _She was still watching me intently, so when I raised an eyebrow she explained._ "Took some pressure from Niall though. She's stubborn."_

"_And not well-versed in our ways." _Interesting – there was a note of affection in her voice for the ex-prince that made me wonder how close they were. Her grandmother didn't have time for the fae, so something had changed in two generations. _"Stan went to Niall to find you. Niall refused to give you up. You must be close."_

She raised her whisky to her lips and smiled enigmatically. If she was anything like her grandmother, that meant she had no intention of revealing anything on the subject.

"_If you forced Sookie into this," _I warned,_ "she will not be useful as you think."_

"_Maybe she''ll co-operate for you._"

I gave her an assessing look. _"Is that why you chose me?"_

She chuckled. _"Maybe. Or maybe I spoke the truth. I _don't_ trust dead men. But I know something of you."_

Hm. She mentioned Sookie so I would agree to this. Manipulative, but resourceful – those were useful qualities for our mission. _"Sookie won't be pleased to see me. The tiger even less so."_

"_He's not coming," _she said, amusement in her voice.

Oh _really._ I hid my smile, and slipped back into English. "We'll need some muscle then. Sookie has an irritating habit of finding trouble."

We discussed the arrangements until I was happy we'd covered most eventualities, then I asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"It is my mess to clear up," she said, staring into her whisky glass. "I filled Hector with righteous anger, twisted him into a weapon because of my own fears and rage." She grimaced. "You were right. I fed the wrong wolf."

Her face was heavy with grief. I said, "You love him."

"Yes."

"Sometimes a rabid wolf has to be put down."

She glared at me. "Don't worry. I will do what is needed. My people come first. Always."

Ah. There was the common ground she had with Niall.

…

I looked over Thalia's head to see Neb, still as a corpse, on the bed. It was … eerie to see that much power completely vulnerable. Well, not completely. Thalia kept herself between the bed and me, watching my movements with a fierce expression. Maybe she did have a soft spot for the Reckoner.

"_What is it?_" she hissed in Greek.

"_I have need of you in Mississippi. After the summit."_

She scowled. _"Does the telepath no longer need a guard?"_

"_She's not going back to Memphis."_

Her scowl deepened. _"You are taking what's yours."_

"_No. I meant she's not going back straight away." _I explained the little jaunt across the South Daisy had planned.

She muttered under her breath, and then glowered at me. _"Fine. It will be less boring than this."_

I glanced at Neb and grinned. "The conversation not sparkling enough for you?"

She curled her lip in contempt, and waved me out of the room.

Oskar was in the lounge, talking to Mithradates. The Amun council meeting had gone well, and I listened to them relate the details with growing impatience until at last, an hour before dawn, I could excuse myself to my room.

Where I could fume and pace as much as I liked.

Sookie had cried out my name in Tyler. Mine. Not Sam's, her husband at the time. Not the fucking tiger's. Mine. Under the influence of that fucking fairy magic too.

That was a year ago.

And Pamela, who knew how I felt about Sookie, had said nothing. If I'd known… I wanted to reach through my blood tie to my child and strangle her.

Fuck. I sat on the bed, and raked my hands through my hair. Why hadn't she told me? Was this the only thing she kept from me? Could I still trust her? I had half a mind to call her, but this was a conversation we needed to have face-to-face. Blood-to-blood in fact, so I could feel her.

If she hadn't learnt to hide her feelings from me as well as the truth.

I pulled off my suit, balled it up, threw it in the corner, and stalked into the bathroom for a shower. The hot water did nothing to wash away the ache gnawing at me. Karin was gone. Ocella was gone. Pam was the only vampire of my blood left, and if I couldn't rely on her… I glared at the tiles, fists clenching and unclenching, wishing I had something to kill.

I was not going to become Salvatore, so lonely in his blood he was clinging to the link he shared with Goro like a drowning man.

If I couldn't trust Pam, so be it. I would deal with it.

Nope. That didn't work.

This was Pam. I didn't want to accept that. And I wasn't just angry with her. I was furious with myself, with my decision to stay away from Sookie, to pretend I didn't want her with a thirst as inescapable as the thirst for blood. If she was calling out my name, under that fairy spell too… Maybe I could have put things right between us a year ago.

But no. I'd stayed away. Let her get away. Let her run to Memphis and the tiger's arms.

Fuck. I was going to dwell on this until dawn. I needed a distraction. Wrapped in a towel, I fetched my phone and sat on the floor in the bathroom.

"Mm. Eric." Rory's voice was thick with sleep.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes." A laugh bubbled under the word, and she came more awake. "I have to be up soon anyway. Early shift. What's wrong?"

I hesitated. This was between Pam and me. "Nothing."

"Well, that's a lie," she said cheerfully. "Must be something, you never call to chat."

She paused, but I didn't say anything.

"Hm. Shall we play twenty questions? Is it some vampire problem? No, you would've called Pam."

I winced at my child's name, glad Rory couldn't see me. "No. It's not … political."

"Personal then," she said. "Your feelings?"

"No. I am –"

"Sookie?"

"No, it is not –"

"Oh, the new gift. Is it acting up?"

"Woman, let me finish one damn sentence," I growled, exasperated. "My _gift _has been strangely quiet for the last few hours."

"Hmm. It does tend to come and go at first."

"Yes. So you said. Last night. I haven't forgotten."

"Well, you are getting old," she teased. "So what _do _you want?"

"I …" When I had to grope for an answer, I almost pulled the phone away and ended the call. I cleared my throat. The woman had seen me at my worst. Grow a fucking backbone, Northman. "I, ah, just needed to hear a friendly voice."

"Oh." She sounded as surprised to hear it as I was to admit it. "Tough summit, huh?"

"There was that attempt to kill me earlier today…" Fuck, it had been a long night. "Talk to me. Did you work yesterday?"

"Okay, brother. Where the hell are you anyway? There's a terrible echo."

"The bathroom." I leaned back against bathtub as she laughed at that, and made myself comfortable. We chatted idly until dawn.

Only after I blurred to the bed did I acknowledge how much it made me miss Sookie. It was one of the things we used to do, talk about trivial things.

She had the tiger to do that with now.

But he wasn't going to Jackson with her. It was a small thing, but it was enough to put a smile on my face as I died.

…

Kentucky had laid a red carpet in the lobby outside the ballroom, and the cameras he'd allowed in lined it like glistening, hungry mouths. The greedy prick probably made them pay through the nose for the privilege too, one bloodsucker feeding off a different kind of leech.

At least he hadn't been stupid enough allow a live broadcast.

Illinois was ahead of us, talking to one of the interviewers, and I could hear the disdain in his voice. It didn't dissuade the hard-faced woman with the annoying nasal voice from asking another inane question. As Illinois's second deftly deflected her, Oskar, beside me, said in a vampire-whisper, "A hundred says I can make her giggle."

I answered without disturbing my smile for the cameras. "No glamour."

"Done," he said quickly.

Too quickly. I was going to lose, but at least it would wring some amusement out of the situation.

Illinois made good his escape and it was our turn to face the leech. The woman touched her ear lightly as we stepped forward and nodded absently to the voice from her earpiece even as her eyes slid over my tux, lingering on my shoulders for a second.

Hm. Maybe she preferred blonds. Oskar might have to put in some effort.

"Mr Northman," she said, smiling wide to show perfect, over-whitened teeth. "After the GR, you ran a successful tourist bar called..." She looked down at her clipboard for show. "Fangtasia, I believe?"

"Yes, in Shreveport." Someone had done their research. Thinking to give Pam some publicity, I smiled winsomely for the camera. "It has been – forgive the pun – _re-vamped _since then_._"

The woman smiled politely, but there was no laughter in her eyes as she pressed on. "Do you think the public's love affair with all things fanged has run its course?"

"Not at all. Fangtasia is still thriving."

Her eyes narrowed. "But without you. I hear you spent a few years in Oklahoma."

"Yes," I said evenly. "It presented fresh challenges. I have investments there."

"It wasn't all work and no play, though. You were photographed attending several balls like this one with another vampire, a" – she checked her clipboard again – "Freyda Johansson. Mr Northman, did a bad break-up precipitate your return to Louisiana?"

"Not at all. My partnership with Ms Johansson was purely business." Not entirely a lie.

"Did Ms Johansson want more? She hasn't been seen out and about in a year. Did you break her heart?"

No. My child staked her. I lied smoothly, "I believe she has returned to Europe."

That was the story Stan and Bartlett concocted. Complete with a couple of faked sightings in Sweden, Italy, and France. If anyone cared to look.

To my left, Neb stepped forward and said, "Freyda's home was bombed quite recently, if you recall. I imagine Europe felt safer. People are more tolerant of the fanged there."

The woman's lip curled as she looked my sheriff up and down. Was the sneer patriotic – he had cast aspersions on America's reputation for tolerance – or was Neb not photogenic enough for her? Who knew. Who cared.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Neb Schreiber."

Her eyes narrowed again. "That's a German name, and you're what? Indian?"

"Egyptian." Shaking his head ruefully, he turned to Goro behind us. "But we all look the same, eh Takahashi?"

The woman blushed, but she persisted. "And how old are you, Mr Schreiber?"

Neb waved a finger at her, smiling. "Ah-ah. Asking a vampire their age is the height of bad manners."

Oskar stepped forward then, and put on his best cut-glass English accent. "Neb, old chap, leave the lady alone." He turned the full force of his smile on her. "Lord Ashwyn of Kent, at your service."

"_Lord_ Ashwyn?" Her eyes lit up.

As Oskar blasted her with his charms Neb leaned towards me. "I tried, but I think you can kiss that hundred goodbye."

I shrugged. "It keeps him entertained."

Thirty seconds later the hard-faced woman was indeed giggling like the proverbial school girl, and we moved on. Maude stepped up to the plate after us and the woman asked her if there was any truth to the rivalry between vampires and werewolves, as shown in numerous Hollywood movies. As we entered the ballroom, I heard Maude steam roll her with the details of her designer gown – some concoction of purple silk that was quite fetching, and apparently capable of dazzling the press – and I chuckled. Maude loved to use her femininity as a weapon.

…

The ballroom was full of vampires dressed to impress.

Sookie was there, of course. She was wearing black, a short, fitted velvet dress that was more serious than fairytale, as if to emphasise she wasn't here to enjoy herself. Her hair was up, exposing her neck in a way that made my fangs itch, a bold move in this crowd. Part of that new confidence of hers, perhaps.

Or the necklace she was wearing was as silver as Quinn's ring.

I didn't intend to get close enough to find out. No manufactured excuses this time – better to make my moves away from the summit, once we were somewhere more … intimate. Anyway, the tiger was hovering in the background, in a matching black tux, and that was a complication I didn't need.

I consoled myself with the knowledge I would have time with her soon enough and turned my attention to my fellow monarchs. The ball was like many I had attended over the centuries: full of posturing, flirting and intrigue. Add the restraints of the cameras outside and it was the perfect recipe for boredom. The most notable thing in the first hour was the lengthy conversation Iowa and Maude had. All smiles and affection on the surface, but I knew Maude well enough to pick up the stiffness in her bearing.

It seemed the information Oskar passed to Iowa at last night's council meeting had done the trick. It proved Wisconsin was to blame for an old dispute between the two queens, and Iowa had clearly made short work of revealing that to Maude, hence the French vampire's discomfort. Like most of us, she hated to apologise.

I'd decided against giving the data straight to Maude. She might unwittingly let it slip to Wisconsin that I was the source, and I didn't want that getting back to Nevada – the longer it took him to realise Compton's black database had been compromised the better. And frankly Maude had pissed me off, dragging me into her matrimonial games.

This way I scored points with Iowa, and embarrassed Maude. Win-win.

Russell arrived at my table, and I gestured for him to take the seat beside me. Without preamble, he said, "Surviving Nevada's pathetic attack has done your reputation the world of good. I just overheard Missouri calling you this year's golden boy. He was positively green. You know you've made it to the top when those at the bottom look up in envy."

I chuckled. "Or when a line forms to tear you down."

"Touché." He noticed who I was watching, and a faint smile played around his mouth. Tipping his head slightly towards the two queens he said, "Maude has been cutting her husband dead all night."

"Is that so?" I kept my face and voice smooth.

"Oh yes. Pity it's not literal. Wisconsin is a dead weight. She could do so much better."

His eyes twinkled, and I wondered how much of Bartlett's grand vision for the future he'd swallowed. Although Russell loved gossip, so his enthusiasm could be for that alone. Iowa laughed, and he looked over at them again. "I assume that _entente __cordiale_ was your doing?"

I shrugged modestly.

He leaned back, hooking his arm over the back of his chair as he looked towards the section of the room I was avoiding. "Speaking of things that are your doing, I expected the tiger's hackles to be raised tonight."

"He doesn't know," I said evenly.

His eyes widened slightly. "Does she?"

"Not yet." I was half-hoping she wouldn't find out until we were in Jackson. I was having difficulty predicting her reaction – another reason not to seek her out tonight.

Russell let his amusement show for a second, then his eyes followed Bartlett who was dancing with Zola. A fond unguarded look slipped across his face.

"Indiana still favours Alabama," I said quietly.

"Yes, but that tree will take a few years to fruit."

"We have nothing if not time" I said, reaching for my blood. The hotel had picked dark smoked glasses to sanitise our blood-drinkingfor the squeamish.

Russell's eyes fell on my hand, and the signet ring. A faint frowned disturbed his forehead. "Is that a _royal _gift?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head slightly.

"Good." I raised an eyebrow and he gave me a half-smirk. "Don't rush into any commitments on our account. As Bartlett said, there are other ways."

"Careful, Russell. No more interference." I hadn't forgotten his toying with Sookie.

He cocked his head at me. "Still mad?"

I pinched the air and said sarcastically, "Little bit."

"Hm. You're not the only one." He winked at me as he got to his feet. "Miss Stackhouse was positively rude to me earlier."

I chuckled. Now that, I would have liked to see.

…

Iowa smiled graciously as she swept to a halt in front of the table and held out a gloved hand. "Eric, shall we?"

I was already rising to my feet, hiding my surprise behind a smooth mask. I hadn't expected Iowa to make a move this early in the game.

"Keira. It would be a pleasure," I said smoothly, taking her hand and kissed her knuckles lightly.

I led her to the dance floor, my unease growing with every step. I hadn't anticipated our … arrangement coming to light tonight. Sookie was here. It would be another obstacle to anything that might blossom between us in the next few days, and there were enough obstacles to that already.

But I could hardly refuse.

Or look unwilling. So I smiled. Keira smiled. We danced.

Of course, dancing was also a way to hold a reasonably private conversation in a room full of vampires. Halfway around the room Keira leaned in close, still smiling. "Thank you for the gift you sent with Oskar."

"It proved useful?"

"Oh yes. I've had a very entertaining evening."

I grinned down at her. "Watching Maude eat crow, I presume."

She laughed quietly. "Ah, the proud French. It does them good to be humbled."

"Just occasionally."

"Wisconsin's bed is going to be cold."

I shrugged slightly under the hand she was resting on my chest. "He made that bed."

She nodded. "For sure. She could cut him loose for it, if she had a mind to."

After a few turns her eyes, warm with amusement, settled on mine. "Your ex-wife is staring daggers."

"Ah. That explains the itch between my shoulder blades." Fuck. Pissing Sookie off was not on my to-do list.

She laughed quietly. "No, that would be Illinois. _She's _staring at_ me."_

"She is?" That was … confusing.

"She is." Keira looked even more amused. "Should I be worried?"

"Not unless you plan to harm her," I said, careful to keep my tone light.

She squeezed my hand, the one that clasped hers, and said solemnly, "I would never."

I blinked. Was I that obvious? Apparently, I was, because she leaned in again as the dance began to end. "You were pledged Eric. You are not one to take that lightly."

"Ah." I let go of her waist as the music faded, but she kept our hands joined.

"I'll be in touch," she said and dipped into a graceful curtsey, her eyes that warm amber again, as they had been on the roof.

I bowed in return, and let go of her hand. I watched her cross the room back to her table, hands in my pockets and deep in thought. Oskar appeared beside me and said in a low voice, "Not content with the enemies you have, Eric? You just painted another target on your back."

He looked pointedly across the floor to Illinois, who was watching us intently. He raised his glass to me, and I dipped my head in acknowledgement. "It was only a dance, Oskar. Illinois doesn't look _that _pissed."

Oskar huffed and as I turned to follow him back to our table, I caught a glimpse of Sookie. She was frowning after me almost as intently as Illinois had been.

She could paint a target on my back any time.

…

Oskar flopped onto the couch, and pulled his bow tie undone. "Thank fuck that's over."

"I enjoyed it," Neb said.

"Rather you than me," Oskar muttered, shaking his head.

Neb had danced with Thalia. Twice. She had scowled the whole time, mind you, but it was noteworthy. She rarely danced. I had certainly never witnessed it.

I sprawled on the couch opposite Oskar, and he raised his head. "You and Keira set a date?"

"Date?" I said innocently. I still hadn't told them about our phony marriage plans, and it was bugging the hell out of him.

He stretched lazily. "She would be perfect for a wife. Iowa is far enough away."

"That's a bonus?" Neb asked curiously.

"Less time with him," Oskar said, waving at me, "less likelihood she'll come to her senses."

I made a rude gesture in his direction.

He snorted. "She only danced with you. Not Ohio, not Illinois. And Illinois was far from pleased. This is not a game, Eric. What are you up to?"

"You will know soon enough. Don't forget who is king here," I said sharply, sitting up. "Everything arranged, Neb?"

"Yes," he said. "Bubba will take your coffin back to Louisiana."

"You better be back in a week," Oskar said sourly. "I'm not dealing with Pam longer than that." He was not happy he had to break the news I was going AWOL.

I went to pack. Most of my things would travel back with the rest of the group, but I filled a small bag to take to Mississippi, humming softly as I tossed in some emergency cash and a few days worth of clothes. Someone knocked on the door. It was Neb.

"All set?" he asked.

"Almost."

He held out a flash-drive. "The footage of the attack, from our camera." He hesitated slightly. "A personal copy."

I took it. "Was there anything else?"

He shook his head and left. I frowned after him. What the hell was that about? I hadn't asked for a copy. I turned the tiny plastic case over in my palm, looking between it and my laptop, packed and ready to send home.

Two minutes later the door was locked, and I was pushing the flash-drive into my laptop. There were two files. One was labelled '_Supporting Evidence_' – Neb had extracted the relevant parts for the Amun council, and I'd already seen that. I clicked the one labelled '_Raw: sole copy_'.

It started the same, with our wolves chasing after Yuri, scattering clothes as they shifted. I skipped forwards to the assassin. My lip curled as I watched her walk up the empty corridor towards the suite, bold as brass, pushing a cart. Then she was under the camera, out of shot. Neb had cut there for the evidence, because the camera hadn't caught what she did to open the door.

I was about to close the file when a flash of movement stopped me.

There it was again. A flash of honey blonde way down the corridor, by the lifts. What was that? I stabbed at the keyboard, paused, rewound, played it again. The angle was poor, but it looked like...

I sat bolt upright. It couldn't be.

It was.

Sookie. She burst around the corner and flew down the corridor towards the suite, hair streaming, barefoot, panic on her face. It was glorious. So glorious I watched it twice more, until my fangs snicked down and a slow, wide smile grew around them.


	37. Belle of the Ball

Thank you for the reviews!

Don't forget - two more days left to vote for the **New Blood Awards.**

I may have to drop to posting fortnightly over the summer, we'll see how it goes. I'll stick to Fridays and if I have to skip a week there will be a note on my profile to let y'all know. This is the very last of the summit...

* * *

**Belle of the Ball**

* * *

Yawning awake, I looked for Quinn as soon as I could focus. Last night, he'd come out of the bathroom with an awful shuttered look on his face that had frozen the apology on my lips, and he'd laid down in the couch without a word, radiating hurt, his back turned to me and every muscle tight with anger.

It took me some time to fall asleep.

He was still on the couch now, with his head thrown back, face and jaw relaxed and limbs sprawling. Peaceful, I thought sighing softly. I slipped out of bed and stood over him, tracing the lines of his face with my eyes as I resolved to do better by him.

Half an hour later he stirred and yawned. "Hey," I said softly. He sat up and caught sight of the tray on the bed beside me. "I didn't think white tulips would hit the spot."

"No, not really my thing." His voice was husky with sleep and he smiled a little, blinking. "Is that steak tartare?"

"Uh-huh."

He went to freshen up first. I drank my coffee silently while he ate, waiting until he put his cutlery down with a satisfied sigh.

"Apology accepted," he said, reaching for my hand. His grip was warm, and I curled my fingers round his wrist, blinking away tears as I sensed the gentle swirl of his mind. That he was welcoming me back inside his head meant the world to me after our fight.

"I should have trusted you," I said, meeting his eyes, "and not just bulldozed my way into your head. I'm sorry. I overhead something and I let it get to me. I have …" I swallowed the stickiness threatening to stop me. "Trust issues, I guess you'd call it. I've been lied to in the past, too many times."

"Northman?" he asked, eyes narrowed. _That fucker, I know he hurt her._

"No. Eric wasn't the most open guy ever, but…" I sighed. Stop avoiding the big bad, Sookie. "I meant Bill, actually. I didn't find out until we were over, but we only got together in the first place because his queen wanted a telepath. She sent him for me. Our whole relationship was built on deceit, and that really did a number on me."

Quinn scowled, and then his eyes widened. "I came to you with an offer from Sophie-Ann."

"Uh-huh. And you didn't tell me about your past. Not at first." I said it gently, careful not to sound accusing. He blinked at me once, then looked sheepish. "So, yeah, those resemblances don't help. But you're not Bill."

"Damn bloodsuckers," he muttered.

"It wasn't just him. Sam … He's a pretty secretive guy. He kept things from me too."

"Yeah?" _Knew she wasn't happy with him._

"He was never comfortable with me reading him. Did I tell you he can push me out of his head?"

"He can?" He frowned, but the best thing, the thing that made my heart soar, was he didn't once wish he could do that himself.

That gave me the confidence I needed to press on. "Maybe because he's a true shifter, or because he'd been around me so long. But even with that, it was a struggle to give him the privacy he needed." I took a deep breath. "Privacy is the one thing I can't guarantee you, Quinn."

My telepathy was as natural a breathing now my control had improved, and I wouldn't go back to denying it. The man I was with had to accept it. I bit my lip, and watched Quinn's eyes.

They didn't waver.

"I knew what I was getting into, babe." He squeezed my hand. "I get why you read me last night. You needed to be sure of me, and maybe you would have been if I'd been more open with you from the start. You're not the only one with … baggage." He grimaced. "I'm sorry for raking up what happened at Rhodes. That's over and done with."

…

I was relieved I'd patched things up with Quinn, but I caught myself thinking more than once during the morning that my trip with Daisy would give us some breathing space. The summit had pulled me in so many directions my head was spinning and I was on edge, worrying about Mr C and his mission in Memphis. He'd told me not to expect any word from him until early evening but I couldn't relax until I knew it had gone smoothly. Diantha's eye rolls and assurances that her uncle knew what he was doing weren't enough.

Thankfully the morning was quiet, and I took an early lunch.

Serena was leaving as I arrived at the café. Her smile was guarded, and it wasn't until I sat down to eat that I put my finger on why that unsettled me. Last time we met over lunch, Serena – who used a false name to keep her life compartmentalised – had spilled an awful lot of private things to me, a stranger.

Was that my fairy charm in action? Had I compelled her to reveal her secrets?

The possibility made me feel inhuman. I had enough advantage over folk with my telepathy, I didn't want more. And after the way I'd treated Quinn, using my telepathy instead of trusting him … What if I was tempted to abuse this new ability?

I blew on my coffee, and shivered, remembering my confrontation with Finch. That urge to tear his thoughts out of his head – I couldn't say for sure I would've resisted that if I actually had the capability to follow through on it. Telepathy and the charm would be a powerful combination, and I had no illusions about my moral compass. It wobbled just like everybody else's, and I sure as hell knew there were days when I was far from a good Christian.

But I tried to balance people's privacy and dignity against the things I needed to know when I was rooting through their minds. That had to count for something, right?

I swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee, and wished momentarily that Daisy had never said anything about the charm.

Then I gave myself a stern talking-to: _Sookie Stackhouse, no more sticking your head in the sand. That's your momma's ghost talking, and wishing your telepathy away never did anything but make you miserable. Better accept this new ability and work out how to control it._

Hmm. Perhaps my curiosity about Serena, and about New Mexico had triggered it. I tried to remember if I'd felt the same when Sophie-Ann spoke about her turning, but too much time had passed for me to be sure. I had a clearer memory of Eric talking about his human wife: I'd been desperate to avoid our pledging that night, but I didn't think I'd been particularly curious.

Well, shit. I had no idea how it worked. Maybe Meredith would know. I made a note to ask her when I saw her.

I was halfway through my meal when I noticed Daisy making a beeline for me. The newspaper she was carrying hit the table noisily, and she gestured at it with her chin as she sat down. "A change of plan."

Sighing, I spread it out and didn't have to look further than the front page to see what had pinched her mouth lemon-sucking tight. _Wolf Attack in Downtown Jackson? _screamed the headline. It only got worse as I skimmed the article. Hector's latest victim had been dumped right outside City Hall, naked and covered in bite wounds.

"I guess we're going to Jackson then." I rubbed at my forehead. Wonderful. Russell's territory. At least I had his protection, even if I had no particular desire to speak to him after his stunt with Serena.

Daisy nodded. "I spoke to Mississippi. His people will share what they know."

"Would Hector stick around after …" I gestured at the newspaper.

"No. Not if he is as he was." Given the way she looked off into the distance I didn't think she was quite convinced of that. "If we don't find him there, we will go to Houston."

I remembered what Tezcatlipoca said. "Stan won't be a problem?"

"He was … difficult. We will have a vampire with us, there and in Jackson." Her eyes twinkled. "But that won't hamper us in the day."

I glanced down at the headline, and shrugged. Might be a good thing if things got heated … Oh shit. I groaned. That meant no Meredith: fangs and that particular fairy didn't mix at all well.

"What is it?" Daisy asked suspiciously. She shook her head when I explained. "No good anyway. A fairy would stick out like a sore thumb where we need to go."

She had a point; Meredith wasn't exactly the queen of subtle. I suggested Diantha, but Daisy said a demon would be trusted even less. Meredith wasn't pleased when I called to explain the situation, but Daisy offered her brother – a werebear would raise fewer eyebrows with other twoeys – and Meredith agreed he'd be suitable daytime protection, so we settled on that.

…

I threaded my way through the guests at the closing ball, real glad the summit was almost over. For one thing I was bone-tired. Maybe I'd get more sleep while I was hunting Hector with Daisy.

I scoffed silently to myself. Probably not.

At least I'd had some good news. Mr Cataliades had finally contacted Diantha, and we'd spoken using the mind-stone an hour ago. He had Finch's strongbox. It held various account ledgers and Finch's little black book, which didn't list booty calls but held the contacts Finch used to clean up after his more violent vampire clients. Mr C had insisted on staying in Memphis to gather more evidence against Bardulf – specifically on his bribing the BSA rep, which was a massive no-no, and those few unsavoury incidents that ended with Finch disposing of bodies for him. Mr C was sure those would be enough to de-fang Bardulf.

So things were looking up. After tonight I'd be done working for Kentucky, and soon I'd be done dancing to Bardulf's tune too.

I came to a halt near one of the blood fountains and smoothed down my dress, discreetly checking the black velvet for lint, aware of all the sharp eyes around me. Thank goodness Kentucky had restricted the official photographer to prowling the dance floor for publicity shots. I was definitely not cutting a rug tonight; my little black dress made me feel self-conscious enough amongst all the red-carpet-worthy gowns without me being immortalised on film too.

Not that I couldn't turn heads. When I arrived, Quinn's eyes lit up at the sight of me, lingering all the way down my legs to my killer heels in a way that made me shiver and wish we were back in Memphis, far away from summits and scheming vampires.

I was smiling to myself at the memory when said a voice said, "Ah, the lovely Miss Stackhouse."

I turned round to find Russell Edgington looking me over in an obvious way. He raised an eyebrow, but he kept any comments about my appearance to himself.

"Your majesty," I said, barely nodding. I could give two figs for what he thought. Quinn liked my outfit, and that was enough for me. I didn't bother to keep my smile in place either.

Russell ignored my cold tone and smiled. "I trust Kentucky has rewarded you sufficiently for keeping us all safe. Talent like yours is rare, you can ask a steep price for it."

The smile I gave him in return wasn't sweet. "Bless your heart. If that was true, I'd be setting a price no vampire could pay."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure, we are quite wealthy," he said, winking conspiratorially. "And I love to haggle."

Oh for goodness sake. Time to be blunt, with an eye on the fact that I'd be in his state tomorrow. I schooled my face, and made my voice as cool as I imagined Caroline Bellefleur's had been when someone used the wrong knife and fork. "That little stunt you pulled with Serena makes it real unlikely I'll ever want to work for you, Mr Edgington."

He clicked his tongue chidingly. "Oh, Miss Stackhouse. Making bald threats spoils the game. You should always start with subtle ones."

"I'm done playing games, your majesty." I glanced across the room, towards Eric. "And I do wonder who put you up to the one you played on me the other night."

He dropped all pretence of amusement and said sharply, "I play for myself, Miss Stackhouse. Never doubt it." He saw something over my shoulder, and his eyes went flat. He nodded curtly and walked away.

Quinn's warm hand stroked the small of my back a second later, and he watched Russell leaving with a puzzled look. "What was that about?"

"Just another job offer," I mumbled, taking the drink he'd brought and sipping it. Tonic, bitter enough to wash the taste of white lies out of my mouth. "He wasn't too pleased to be turned down."

Quinn accepted that without questioning it, and when Dylan joined us a second later I let their conversation fade into the background and scanned the minds around us.

All good.

The vamps were more relaxed tonight. I was indulging in a spot of supe-watching when I wasn't listening to minds. So far it was only sheriffs and underlings gracing the dance floor. I guessed all the wheeling and dealing was already done because the royals seemed content to sit at their tables looking pretty.

Except Minnesota and Iowa, who were as thick as thieves, all elegant smiles and polite tinkling laughter as they stood together discussing whatever the hell vampire queens discussed.

On second thoughts, maybe that was about looking pretty too. They complemented each other, both slender and dark-haired, Maude in a backless creation of purple silk gathered at the waist with a gold belt, and Iowa in a classic emerald dress with a low neckline and a full skirt that fell to the floor. She'd paired it with matching gloves, and her hair was braided at the sides and woven with strands of gold. She looked every inch the belle of the ball.

Sure looked regal, the pair of them.

"What's that about?" I whispered, nudging Quinn and nodding in their direction.

"No idea. They're neighbours, though." His eyes narrowed and darted to the side, and I followed his glance to Wisconsin, who was showing no reaction to his wife cosying up with Iowa.

Dylan craned his neck to look too, and snorted. "Sucks to be Wisconsin, huh?"

"You think?" Quinn said thoughtfully, looking back at Iowa and Maude.

Think what? Dylan obviously understood, because he didn't hesitate to reply. "I know that look, Quinn. Don't even think about bidding for that one." He shuddered theatrically. "Two bridezillas. With fangs. No thanks, we're better off out of that."

"Oh," I said, feeling dumb for not getting it after all my earlier speculations about marriage markets. "I didn't realise Maude swung that way." Maybe that was why Pam settled in Minnesota.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "They're vamps. They swing every which way if it gets them what they want."_ Cold asses, the lot of them. Better seeing two chicks together than two guys, though. That's just disgusting._

He cast a scowl in Russell's direction, and I gave him a sharp look, remembering Mel and the Hotshot panthers.

"What?" he said. "The vamps have some fucked up ideas about marriage, and you know it. If you can even call it marriage when they live states apart."

There were plenty of things just as fucked up about twoey culture I thought mutinously, hearing the crunch of Calvin's bones under that damn brick again. But I held my tongue and smiled tightly.

The smile must have spoken for me, because Dylan muttered an excuse and took off.

"You alright, babe?" Quinn murmured.

"Uh-huh." Thank God he didn't run with a pack like Hotshot. That reminded me. "I forgot to ask, what's going on with Frannie and Timas? Does he have to, er, do his duty for the pack?" There was no polite way to say have kids with six other women.

He looked puzzled, and then he let out a rumbling laugh. "No. Frannie would never have stood for that. Besides they don't … They do things differently. She's mad Timas is spending so much time away, working for New Mexico."

"Oh. Well, a girl needs attention."

"Yes," he said winking. "I learnt that lesson."

"Timas is young, give him time." Timas was too bratty for my tastes, but I guess he suited Frannie.

He snorted. "Timas is an idiot. He didn't tell Frannie about this trip until he was leaving. He doesn't include her. But that's how Camargo treats his mother, so…" Quinn shrugged. "Timas expects Frannie to put up with it."

"And that ain't happening."

"No," he said, laughing. "Timas has some grovelling to do when he gets back."

"Good for Frannie," I said, smiling too. I'd missed hearing his easy laugh. Quinn was much more relaxed since I'd shared Mr C's progress with him. I should have realised how tense the situation with Bardulf was making him – it was no wonder we'd been fighting so much.

Quinn leaned closer, his eyes warm. "I wish you were coming home with me tomorrow."

"Me too." I caught sight of a couple on the dance floor, and my eyes widened. "Oh my God. I think hell just froze over. Thalia is _dancing."_

…

Half an hour later Dylan got into an argument with one of the servers and Quinn went to sort it out. So he wasn't around to witness my reaction when another unexpected couple took a turn around the dance floor.

Seeing Eric with Iowa – Iowa, with her beautiful dress and her perfect figure and her flawless skin and that fairytale hairdo – stirred something in me far deeper and much harder to hide than the shocked amusement I felt when I saw Neb dancing with Thalia, all scowling and stiff in his arms.

This was completely different.

For a start, Iowa looked quietly delighted. So did Eric.

Why did he have to look so good in a tux. Why did my eyes have to stray to his hands, one holding hers, the other on her waist.

Why the hell did this have to happen when I was content with Quinn?

I looked away and said a few words in the privacy of my own head that would have had Gran reaching for a whole bar of soap. Jealousy coiled in my chest like something ancient and slippery clawing its way towards the light. I beat it down viciously until it gave up and slithered back into the dark.

Then I did the hardest thing of all. I forced myself to watch.

Eric was smiling. Iowa was smiling. She tilted her head to listen, moved closer in his arms and laughed. They were the very picture of ease with each other.

But that's all it was.

A picture.

You see, I knew Eric. Knew him well. Even across a ballroom, I could pick out the slight tension in his shoulders, the lack of movement in his fingers, maybe even a guarded set to his eyes.

_Nothing like the wild abandon of our dance at Rhodes._

Silencing that smug voice, I puzzled over what it meant that Eric was dancing openly with a queen. So far Bartlett had danced with Zola, Queen of Alabama – or he had until Russell cut in and reclaimed his husband – but other than that none of the kings had danced with any of the queens, despite the manoeuvring I'd seen during the opening ceremony.

Not even Maude and Wisconsin, who were actually married.

I pulled my attention away from Eric and glanced as casually as I could around the audience of watching vamps. Their reaction might tell me what to make of this.

Illinois was standing with his second not far from me. They were watching Eric and Iowa intently without appearing to do so, in that way vampires had, but they were too far away to hear. I doubted I could get away with edging closer to eavesdrop on them.

But a server was just wandering past behind them. Before I could think better of it I reached out for the man's mind.

"– and she approached him," Illinois was saying.

"Chasing reflected glory perhaps," his second said evenly.

I wished I could see their faces. Neither of these vampires were young enough to let emotions colour their words.

"Surviving an attack has greatly enhanced his reputation," Illinois agreed in an almost-bored tone. "But hers is in no need of improvement."

"A serious move on her part then. What will you do?"

"Look elsewhere. I have other plans."

The server moved on, and I pulled back into my own head. Damn. It sure sounded as if the dance meant what I thought it might, if it was putting Illinois off making a move on Iowa.

Eric bowed to Iowa when music ended. Hands thrust in his pockets, he watched her walking away from him with an intent, almost wary expression that stirred something cold in my gut. When Illinois gave Eric a mocking toast, that cold turned to ice water.

Fear for Eric was a safer reaction than jealousy, but I had no idea what to do about it.

Not that I had much time to dwell on it, because my interest in Eric hadn't gone as unnoticed as I might have wished. Bardulf was approaching, his mouth curled in a mocking smile.

"Tennessee," I said, nodding curtly. He was wearing a beautifully tailored suit, but it did nothing for me: I knew what he was really like underneath it.

"Having fun, lass?" He gestured at the dance floor. "More pleasant than pack contests in a decaying warehouse, eh?"

"Twoeys are comfortable with what they are. Maybe I prefer that."

"I suppose their brashness does have a certain … naive charm." He flicked his eyes towards the blood fountain.

Quinn. My heart skipped a beat. How long had he been back? Had he seen me watching Eric?

Bardulf's smile grew wider, and I realised he thought my tension was in response to his unspoken threat to Quinn. He drawled, "That charm will wear thin, you know. You might find you enjoy the finer things."

"If I only agreed to work for you, right?" I kept my voice calm by reminding myself I had a plan to deal with him. "I don't think so."

"Who knows the future." He turned back to the dance floor, wearing one of those infuriatingly smug smirks. "Northman has moved on already. He is a fickle beast, isn't he?"

I could feel his eyes on the side of my face, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply.

He dropped his voice. "He won't help you again, lass. He has his own problems. A king must look to his kingdom."

He walked away with a swagger, completely unaware that his words had turned my guts to ice water again, stirring instincts older and more primal than jealousy, ones Bardulf would never understand.

I'd mastered myself by the time Quinn pushed through the crowd to reach me. He asked what Bardulf had said, peppering me with urgent questions that I answered as soothingly as I could. I was relieved.

No way in hell did I want to discuss Eric with him.

…

The elevator in the light-tight wing had thick carpet and brushed steel doors. I checked my hair in the hazy reflection, and tried not to let the silence intimidate me. The bulky vampire Iowa sent to escort me to her floor was doing that pretty well all on his own.

The few terse words he'd spoken were heavily accented and he wasn't quite as massive as Sophie-Ann's Saxon twins, but resemblance was there. His broken nose and ruined face suggested he'd been a fighter before he was turned, another similarity to the Berts. I tried not to stare at his scars.

I had other things to worry about. Like the fact I had no idea what I was doing.

I needed to know what was going on between Iowa and Eric for my own peace of mind, I'd admitted that much. And that meant I had to act now, while Quinn was busy with clearing up after the ball. So I'd seized the moment and called Iowa, saying her I needed to speak with her. Trouble was, I hadn't worked out quite what I was going to say.

I still hadn't when the big vamp showed me into her suite.

Iowa was sitting on a couch, her dress artfully arranged around her, her heels sitting neatly beside her bare feet, and again I was forcible reminded of Sophie-Ann. Iowa looked perfectly composed, and I had to remind myself she was not made of bone china, however young and beautiful she appeared. She was a vampire, an apex predator, and one who'd been a queen longer than I'd been alive.

Her eyes were calm and assessing as she waited for me to speak – a tactic designed to unnerve me I reckoned. But I was a Southern gal, trained to wield politeness as a weapon in games very like the ones Russell mentioned earlier. I dipped into a curtsy that was smoother than usual and used my best company manners. "Thank you for seeing me, your majesty."

"Miss Stackhouse," she said, inclining her head. That was gold braided into her hair, and I had no doubt that the necklace she was wearing was worth more than Gran's house. She gestured gracefully with a slender hand. "Please, take a seat."

I settled on the chair opposite her. She gave a nod, and the big vamp left the room, his void halting just outside the door. We were alone.

I licked my lips, searching for the right words to begin. That hesitation was enough for her to strike first, fast as a snake.

"I imagine you're here to talk about Eric," she said, steel under the velvet of her words.

I didn't react to his first name – I knew instinctively it was meant to throw me off as much as her bluntness. This was a contest of wills and I was determined to get the answers I came for.

I said evenly, "In a way, yes. But I came to see you."

"To take my measure," she said, smiling politely. The smile didn't reach her slate grey eyes, which remained watchful.

"Perhaps," I said. "Or so you can take mine. But I'm sure you have the advantage there." She probably had a network of spies from here to New Orleans.

"Yes. What sort of queen would I be if I didn't investigate … potential roadblocks, shall we call it. What do you wish to know of me, Miss Stackhouse?"

"Call me Sookie. And you are…?" I knew her name, but I pretended otherwise and called up all the curiosity I could, hoping to trigger that elusive fairy charm.

"I go by Kiera Delaney now." Her eyes lost focus and I held my breath. She touched her hair absently and an accent coloured her voice. "Kiera my mother named me, after my hair, as dark as the raven's wing. Delaney I took for myself. From the river Slaney, whose waters bring good health, and the Gaelic for dark." Her face and hands stilled briefly, and her eyes flashed, revealing honey-coloured centres that made me think of melting caramel. Her focus sharpened, and she smiled wryly. "Dark health. A good name for a creature of eternal night, don't you think?"

"You're Irish?" I said cautiously.

"Yes," she answered in a much flatter, harder voice. "But you're not here to discuss the past."

Damn. I was sure the charm had begun to work, but she seemed to have shaken it off. She leaned forward, and began to remove her gloves, nipping delicately at the fingertips with her teeth, tugging them off with her eyes fixed on mine.

It was a delicate threat, meant to draw my attention to her mouth, to her teeth, to what she was – all without dropping her fangs or loosing her temper.

She had style by the bucket load, I'd give her that. I remembered Freyda turning up at my house and almost snorted at the contrast. Iowa was in a whole other league, and that comparison, oddly, gave me the words I needed.

"You impress me more than Freyda ever did." She accepted the somewhat backhanded compliment with a nod, and I sat up straighter, smiling wryly. "I only met her a time or two. And Alabama – Nadia or whatever her name was – I only met once. They thought they were powerful, untouchable. But they messed with Eric, and now they're both finally dead."

She raised an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. "I am well aware of those circumstances. More so than you, I imagine, as I sat in judgement at Nadia's trial."

Oh. I didn't know that. Refusing to let it throw me, I continued as firmly as I could. "Don't mess with him, Kiera. It will end badly for you."

Both her eyebrows raised. "That threat might be more effective if you had anything to do with extricating Eric from Oklahoma, which I know you did not."

"Eric can look after himself. He doesn't need me."

"And yet you are here, delivering a warning. Careful, Sookie. I might think you care for him more than the tiger would wish."

I'd come too far to back down now.

"I do care for Eric," I said, keeping my voice calm," but not in that way. He's been a friend to me, and I owe him for that. I will be his _friend,_ as long as it doesn't cost me." Eric would have been proud of that caveat, I thought.

She gave me a long look. "It is more than that, I think."

"No." I let myself sound as irritated as I felt. "I know vampires don't understand this, but it's perfectly possible for humans to have a dozen _friends_ that we care for. Not just the one or two y'all restrict yourselves to."

Her eyes widen. "Thank you," she said gravely.

"Excuse me?"

"You've given me an insight into Eric that I didn't have. One that explains why he hasn't fulfilled his potential before now."

"Because he's careful who he trusts? Y'all are like that." A touch of disbelief coloured my voice, despite my efforts.

"We are not all quite so cautious. Some of us trust those not of our own blood." Her eyes flicked to the door, the one the big vamp was still standing behind, and I mentally revised him up from bodyguard to queen's right hand vamp.

Those grey eyes fell on mine again, and we regarded each other steadily. At last she said, "You would do well to remember we are not all the same. Eric will not face another Oklahoma. He is in a much better position now."

"Good," I said, feeling that ice water finally melt away. "You remind me of Sophie-Ann."

She blinked, and smiled for real. "That is a true compliment."

"You're welcome." As I stood to leave I asked one last question. "Oh, by the way, why did you give me your protection?"

"Oh, that is simple. You saved many of our kind at Rhodes. Loyalty like that should be rewarded."

"But I didn't save your husband."

"No." She smiled faintly. "But you are not the only one with more than one … friend. There were others dear to me that survived that day because of you."

This time she didn't look to the door, but I figured I knew who she meant.

…

"It's been a pleasure working with you, Sookie." Geiszler cleared his throat and held out a business card. "Get in touch if you need a reference for a packmaster."

I took the card and caught sight of a home number scrawled on it. The hug I gave him took him by surprise. "Thanks, Conrad," I said into his shoulder.

"It's Geiszler until tomorrow," he said gruffly, patting my back before he pulled away.

I rolled my eyes. Technically, I was on call until dawn but some of the vamps were already checking out and I was planning on hit the hay shortly. I needed some sleep before Jackson. "If I don't see you before I check out, take care of yourself, _Conrad_."

He grinned. "You too, Sookie. If you're ever up this way again, don't be a stranger."

Quinn was nowhere in sight when I left the hub, but I was running a little late and he'd texted to say he was finished a while earlier. I figured he'd gotten bored and gone to get some food. He wasn't in the almost empty café. Dylan was though, sitting with one of the security guards, a pretty brunette he'd been trying to impress all week.

"Hey, Sookie," he called as soon as he saw me. "Looking for Quinn?"

"Yeah. I just finished for the night."

"He was heading your way. You must've missed him." He frowned. "He said he couldn't get wait to get out of his suit though. Maybe he went upstairs to change."

"Maybe," I said uncertainly. I remembered Bardulf's veiled threats from the ballroom, the ones I'd dismissed as just more of the same What if he'd cornered Quinn – always a bad idea – and put his little blackmail scheme into action? What if Quinn lost his temper?

I pulled out my phone and tried calling him. I began to worry in earnest when he didn't answer.

Dylan said kindly, "Why don't you check the room, and I'll check down here."

"Thanks," I said gratefully. "Call me if you find him."

I was on the verge of panicking by the time I got to the elevators. The area was busy with vamps heading to check out. Between dodging the luggage carts and scanning the crowd both mentally and visually for a certain bald head, I forgot to pay attention to what was in front of me.

I ran into Oskar. Literally.

He was striding around a luggage cart, and he about bowled me over. He steadied me with a cold hand on my arm, gripping a little harder than necessary. I was sure I saw a flash of anger in his eyes before he recovered himself and said calmly, "Miss Stackhouse. Something wrong that you can't look where you're going?"

"Yes," I said, pulling free and noting clinically that up close he really was handsome. His colouring was similar to Bill's. Too worried to care that he was pissed I'd invaded his precious personal space I asked, "Have you seen Quinn anywhere?"

"Lost him already?" he drawled. "You should put a bell on his collar."

"Hilarious," I deadpanned and turned to Neb, who was behind him. "What about you?"

He shook his head.

Oskar raised an accusing eyebrow. "Aren't you on the clock? Kentucky isn't paying you to chase the tiger."

"I'm done for the night," I said sharply and peered round them when an elevator pinged. A couple of vamps I recognised as belonging to the Louisiana party emerged with a luggage cart, but no Quinn. Where the hell was he?

"Mixing business and pleasure is never wise," Oskar said sharply.

I blurted out without thinking, "That why none of you brought a girlfriend?"

The next second I did think: I knew exactly why Eric hadn't brought his. But I squelched that idea, hard.

Oskar looked beyond amused at the question. "Girlfriend? What sort of vampire have you been associating with?I don't lower myself to date donors." After a pause he added pointedly, "Even if they are useful."

I knew a barbed insult when I heard one, but he walked off before I could say a damn thing, leaving me to glare after him and mutter, "What an asshole."

"He could do with that stick removed." I startled at Neb's words and he winked at me. "Sometimes I think Eric misplaced a stake during one of their legendary brawls. It would explain much."

I gaped at him for a second, taken aback on several levels – that he was joking at the expense of a fellow sheriff for a start. I had almost recovered enough to ask if Eric and Oskar came to blows often, when someone called my name. I turned to see Diantha heading towards us at a brisk clip. "Oh, excuse me, Neb. I'm needed."

Diantha started talking as soon as she got close enough. "Good, I caught yer. Dylan said you're looking for Quinn. I saw him in the lobby ten minutes ago. Talking to that shifter." She wrinkled her nose. "Wears glasses, always busy."

"Oh. Elaine Randall, from the Caucus?" She nodded and I sagged in relief. Caucus business was much better that the things I'd been imagining.

I looked round to say goodbye to Neb, but he'd already gone so I beat feet to the lobby. But when I got there, Quinn had vanished. Elaine was tucked away in a corner though – I recognised her irritated mental signature before I could see her. As I got nearer I saw she was arguing Daisy, their faces close and their voices low.

"…shouldn't have told him," Daisy hissed. "He's a loose cannon."

She broke off when she saw me. Elaine turned to face me and I sensed a trace of guilt from her before she steeled herself for an argument. Oh Lord, what now?

"Where's Quinn?" I asked.

Daisy's jaw was tight, and a glance passed between them. Elaine answered. "He's gone to confront Louisiana."

"What?" Why would Quinn do that? With the threat from Bardulf– He wouldn't. The last thing he needed was another set-to with Eric. I narrowed my eyes. "What happened?"

Daisy snapped, "This one has a big mouth."

"How was I to know you hadn't told them?" Elaine snapped back. "Quinn didn't even know there was a vamp going–"

"Keep it down," Daisy snarled quietly, nodding at the line of vamps checking out. "Too many ears."

I sat down and leaned in to whisper-yell at Elaine. "Quinn didn't know because I haven't had chance to tell him. What in the hell does this have to do with Eric?"

Daisy looked at me like I was an idiot.

"_Eric _is the vamp? And you thought that was a good idea?" I started to get to my feet, and then I felt a very angry, very familiar snarly mind. I looked over my shoulder. Quinn was striding across the lobby and closing on us fast.

"Tell me you didn't know," he said when he reached me, his eyes scouring my face.

"No, I didn't," I said sourly. "I didn't even know a vamp was coming until this afternoon."

Some of the tension left his shoulders and he took my hand, tugging me back down to the chair as he sat next to me. He glared ferociously at Daisy. "Northman left already."

Daisy didn't bat an eyelid, but she did curl her lip. "Good. Don't make trouble over this, tiger."

Quinn growled softly. "I'll make as much trouble as it takes. Why in the hell is Northman going?"

"Texas wouldn't let me into his state without supervision," Daisy said. "Northman was the best of a bad bunch."

I folded my arms. "You lied to me."

"No. You didn't ask." She shrugged. "So I figured it wasn't a big deal. Can you work with him?"

I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

Okay. I'd told Iowa Eric was a friend. If I felt some attraction, that was understandable, but it didn't mean I had any intention of acting on it. I should be able to do this. I reached for Quinn's hand and squeezed it. "Yes. But only because this is important."

Elaine gave Quinn a hard look. "It is. More important than personal squabbles. And Northman is reasonable, at least. He called me himself to tell me about this." _Told me more than the damn witch did too._

"The Caucus should be dealing with this," Quinn said, his jaw clenching.

Daisy snorted sarcastically. "They spend too much time yapping at each other to do anything that useful."

Elaine hissed under her breath and said icily, "We wouldn't be here if you and your friends hadn't gone off the deep end. You should have left it to us."

"Maybe I would have if my people had a seat at the table," Daisy said calmly. "Or if I believed the Caucus would do something to protect us."

Elaine closed her eyes in weary frustration, and I figured this was a criticism she ran into a lot.

"This has to nothing do with the damn bloodsuckers," Quinn rumbled. He was still furious.

"We need all the help we can get," Elaine whispered sharply. "Do you have any idea how far this could set our cause back? One press story about a werewolf serial killer, and it's game over."

"She's right, Quinn," I said softly. "This needs to be stopped. If the vamps are willing to help–"

He looked at me incredulously. "You think Northman gives a shit about twoeys?"

"He does," Daisy said. "If only because he fears the consequences for his own people. Texas and Mississippi do too. They know humans. They know how dangerous they can be, how fickle." She added heavily, "They have seen it."

I had a pretty good idea that she had too, even if it was through her ancestors.

"The witch is right," Elaine said. "Their goals don't always match ours, but vampires look to the long term, see the big picture. That's something I wish we did more of." She looked at Quinn expectantly. "Fixing this comes first. I need to know you won't interfere."

He shifted uneasily in his seat, eyes flashing. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Asking," she said. Then her eyes hardened. "For now."

…

Quinn's grudging agreement to stay out of things did not mean he accepted the situation with good grace in the slightest, and he wasn't shy in letting me know how displeased he was once we got back to our room. I let him pace and rant for a while, and now he was leaning against the wall, arms folded, as I packed a bag. I was staying out of his head, waiting for him to articulate all the irritation, jealousy and anger he was feeling into words that I had some hope of responding to.

"He's doing this to get close to you," he said, when the tension got too much.

"More fool him then," I said, concentrating on folding a pair of jeans. Daisy said we needed casual clothes to fit in where we were going. I tucked them into the bag. "It's not going to get him anywhere."

"He's only chasing you because you're with me. He's a fucking king, he doesn't even need you. He only has to snap his fingers for a donor." _Hell, he's even got Iowa sniffing round him._

I looked up sharply, wondering what he knew about that, if he knew I'd been to see her. He was burning a hole in the carpet with his glare so I decided it was best not to say anything.

He muttered, "He's doing this to getting back at me for challenging him." _No other reason for him to show an interest in her now._

I bit my tongue. Gee, thanks, Quinn. Why would anyone want me? I carried on packing.

"Don't go," he gritted out finally, and my shoulders flinched instinctively at the sheer insistence behind his words.

"Nothing will happen, Quinn," I said firmly, eyes on the shirt I was folding. "It's only a few days."

He muttered something and I looked up again. The mulish set to his jaw meant he was about to dig his heels in. I turned to face him, searching for words and hit on the perfect way to use his rivalry with Eric in my favour for once.

"You know, Eric let me go to Texas with Sam," I said mildly. "While we were pledged. He trusted me a state away, staying in the same house for a whole weekend, knowing how Sam felt about me." I turned to face him. "Don't you trust me?"

He ground his teeth before he spoke. "I do trust you. It's Northman I don't."

"Give me some credit, Quinn. I'm not going to fall for his bullshit." I looked him in the eye. "I've never been one to cheat. I promise nothing will happen."

He searched my face for a moment, and I could tell he believed me, but his pride wouldn't let him give in just yet. He looked away, ran his hand over his scalp and grumbled half-heartedly, "You paid your debt to Daisy when you read the jaguars. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." I stepped closer, put my hand on his arm and shook it gently. "I'm doing this for you, John Quinn. And Jason. And Calvin, Alcide, Sam. You'll all suffer if this ugliness gets out of hand. And the sort of folks who'd shelter Hector aren't going to talk to strangers. Daisy needs my help."

He sighed and I knew I'd won him over. "What about Bardulf?"

"Mr Cataliades will bring you what he finds. If Bardulf makes a move before I get back, I'm sure you can handle him just fine."

"Oh I will," he said darkly, standing straighter as his ego puffed up.

I figured he could do with a little reassurance to go with the ego-boost. I zipped up my case with a flourish, and moved it to the corner. "There, all done. Now, why don't we put this bed to better use?"

He grinned and stalked towards me, and I put all thoughts of Eric away until I had to deal with him.


	38. Old Hunting Grounds

I'm back!

Thank you for all the reviews while I've been MIA - I will get round to replying asap, but I thought you'd prefer me to get this to you. Enjoy!

* * *

**Old Hunting Grounds**

* * *

Merle, the werewolf Betty Jo had sent to give us the lowdown, shifted his weight on the plastic and chrome chair and it squeaked ominously. Cheap motel furniture wasn't built for someone his size. Merle was a big guy.

Bigger than Daisy's brother Pete Winchester, who was no shrimp himself. Otherwise known as Smoky Pete the werebear, he had picked us up from the airport and driven us to this fine establishment, which had to be one of Jackson's cheapest motels. Between him and Merle, they made the table in the room Daisy and I were sharing look like it belonged in a doll's house. There'd been some posturing between them but now their minds were mostly relaxed, and I was fairly certain Merle was telling us the whole truth.

Not that it was particularly welcome truth for the Jackson supes, but still.

Hector's latest victim had been identified as a preacher from Silver Dawn, one of the smaller churches orbiting the Fellowship. Silver Dawn preached that both vamps and twoeys needed 'salvation', and did not advocate violence. Not officially at least, but their name suggested they might do otherwise in private.

There'd been a flurry of increasingly strident media coverage about the murder, both in print and over the airwaves – we'd listened to local radio on the way here and gotten the tenor of it. The preacher left a widow and three children behind, and was being lauding as an upstanding family man, which as far as I knew was the truth but it sure didn't help matters when his demise was being used to whip up a frenzy of fear against the twoey community. There'd been nothing Betty Jo could do to stop the story getting out either: the body was dumped on the steps of City Hall.

Right across the street from the offices of the Jackson Clarion. Hector was sure set on making headlines.

Merle told us what Betty Jo had discovered so far, which wasn't a lot. The vehicle used to dump the body was stolen. It had been abandoned five blocks away, and the scene was already crawling with police and journalists by the time the supes got to it, so nobody got a clear whiff of the perpetrators. The cops had some sketchy footage from a traffic camera but all it showed was two men scrambling out of the vehicle, baseball hats pulled low over their faces. They'd jumped into another car and vanished into the night. Merle reckoned they were long gone.

"Y'all had any trouble with this Silver Dawn recently?" I asked when he finished.

"No more than usual." Merle shrugged. "They don't do much. Hand out fliers at the mall, a few debates on local radio. Nothing much to speak of."

"Anybody had a run-in with the preacher? Anyone with a grudge against him?"

"Don't think so."

"This took time to set up," said Pete, frowning. "Stealing a car, maybe two. Finding somewhere to take the guy where they wouldn't be disturbed for a few hours."

While they tortured and killed him went unspoken. I shivered.

"Yes," Daisy said thoughtfully. "I've never heard of this guy. Hector must have talked to someone here, someone who thought the preacher deserved this. Someone angry." She narrowed her eyes at Merle. "Where do we find twoeys like that?"

…

The diner was half-full, but when the three of us walked in the drop in noise level was noticeable. Two guys sitting at the far end of the counter gave Pete a long, suspicious once-over.

They weren't the only ones to do that.

It was no surprise folks were twitchy. This was a twoey hangout and everybody in the place was a little tense. Ignoring the looks we were getting, I bitched loudly to Daisy about our imaginary drive from Atlanta – we'd picked that as our cover story. Folks turned back to their food once the three of us picked a table and sat down.

I looked around while we waited for the bored-looking waitress to come over. The place was a dump. The table was sticky under my hand, and chipped, and the waitress's apron was in need of a hot wash or two. Mind you, we fitted in: Pete and his sister were shrugging off well-worn leather jackets, and I'd borrowed a frayed denim coat from Daisy and worn it over an old sweater and faded jeans. I'd used heavier make-up than I usually wore in the day too. Daisy had given my white trash make-over an approving nod before we left the motel.

We ordered coffee and donuts. Daisy and Pete kept up the conversation while I listened in to the customers. Most of the minds around us were red swirls of anxiety or tension, but there were a few humans. I honed in one of them, a middle-aged woman who was a clear broadcaster. She was sitting near the door with two friends, all dressed in the same uniform. Looked like they'd just come off an early shift at the hardware store down the block. She was the only human, and she was thinking about the murder, and what it meant for her twoey friends.

… _is gonna make everything worse. No wonder __Wanda__ keeps to herself. __Emmylou__ gets picked on enough with her daddy being gone. If those little shits knew her momma howled at the moon too, or whatever it is __werefoxes__ do once a month, it would only get worse for the poor kid. And if those those stuck-up teachers knew… Lord knows, they call me in enough over Caleb…_

Her thoughts turned to her son, and I moved on to someone else. Fifteen minutes later I sat back in my chair and gave Daisy a small shake of my head. I hadn't found anything of use to us, just a whole lot of worry and bitterness.

Pete sent me a clear thought then, the way we'd practised on the way over. _Those two at the counter are our best bet. Been bitching about the packs and the cops._

I looked over at them. Their backs were to us, and they were talking, quick and low, with their heads together. The one on the left was whip thin, his faded red t-shirt hanging lose around his biceps and his shoulder blades ghosting against the material when he gave a jerky shrug. That movement, along with the jittery rush of his mind, clued me in. He was a user, on some nasty-ass drugs.

His friend was pot-bellied, with greasy dark hair that hung limply down his back. He'd slung a biker jacket carelessly over the stool next to him, and I compared the emblem stitched on the back of it to my vague memories of the Jackson pack that chased me back to Bon Temps all those years ago, after I'd killed Lorena. I didn't think it was the same emblem, but my hand reached for my throat anyway, feeling for the soft leather pouch that Daisy had tied round my neck with a cord.

Still there, tucked safely under my sweater.

I'd explained to Daisy that I had history with the packs here, and although I figured time might have faded memories of my previous Jackson trip, someone might recognise me. Daisy had whipped up some sort of gris-gris that she said would stop anyone looking at me twice. It made me feel secure enough to approach the locals, even if, as far as I could tell, all it had done so far was smell of dirt and dried herbs.

I nodded to Pete and we slipped out of our seats. As we crossed to the counter he slung a heavy arm over my shoulders, cementing my role as the dumb blonde girlfriend.

"Hey," he said, taking the seat next to the skinny guy in red and putting himself between me and our targets. I stayed on my feet, close to Pete but not quite leaning against him so I could get a clear read. Pete leaned forwards, his elbows resting on the counter. "I heard you talking. Bad business, huh?"

"Nunya yours," said the skinny one aggressively, his beady eyes fierce. What few he had teeth were yellow and broken, wrecked by whatever drug had stolen his life. His mind was filled with suspicion bordering on paranoia, and his hand tapped restlessly on the counter as if it had a mind of its own.

"Easy there, Caleb." His friend laid a hand on his arm in a calming gesture. His nails were chipped and black with grease, like Tray Dawson's had been. Maybe he was a mechanic. He eyed Pete, greed and caution warring on his face plain as day, echoing the struggle in his head.

Oh. Caleb's buddy was hoping we were customers for the drugs burning a hole in that jacket of his. Two packets of weed and three white pills, something I couldn't catch. He was one of those people who thought in pictures, not words.

"What d'you want?" he asked.

"Nothing you're selling," Pete replied easily. I wondered how he knew, then I twigged: he'd smelt the pot. Can't hide that shit around twoeys. "I'm in the market for some information, though."

They both tensed. Caleb sniffed, slow and deliberate. "You catch a whiff of cop there, Dale?"

Pete laughed. "Only time I spent with the cops was on the wrong side of bars."

It was the right reaction judging by the way Dale relaxed. Caleb didn't, clenching his fists. But he kept quiet and I figured that was the best we'd get from someone wound so tight.

"Heard you talking 'bout the murder," Pete began again.

Dale interrupted, eyeing him with renewed suspicion. "So what. Whole town's yapping about that."

"I'll bet," Pete said. He dropped his voice. "So, what's the word? The cops gonna catch whoever did it?"

They exchanged a look. Pete had gotten them thinking along the right lines, but tuning into both of them was like listening to two overlapping radio stations: confusing as hell. Caleb's thoughts were scattered, so I focused on Dale, who was going to do the talking anyway, from the way he leaned forwards. He said, "Why you asking?"

"Thinking of stopping here for a while. Got my girl and my sister with me, see." He nodded and they both looked over at Daisy. "I wanna know how bad it's gonna get."

The pulse of recognition from Dale panicked me a little until I realised he was looking at Pete not me. He said, "You one of them old ones, ain't ya?"

Pete shrugged modestly.

"Your womenfolk are squibs though." Twoeys had appropriated that term from a certain book series to mean someone from twoey roots who couldn't shift. I held back an eye roll at the way Dale used it to dismiss us, and it was a good job I did because he turned to me and asked, "Where you from, doll?"

"Hotshot, Louisiana," I said, sticking to the story we'd planned and sending a silent apology to Calvin for what I was about to say. "You won't have heard of it. Real podunk shithole."

Dale stiffened and looked at Pete. "Panthers out there, right? No-one looking for her?"

I shrugged and Pete said, "Nah, they got enough problems breeding true. Won't miss a dud like her."

"You tagged?" That was slang too, for someone registered with the BSA.

Pete snorted. "Do I look like it? How do the packs round here take to loners? Will I get any hassle?"

"Ours don't care, long as you keep yourself to yourself. The others though... They check up. I'd stick to this side of town if I was you."

Pete nodded, and sucked his teeth. "Get a lot of loners?"

"Some. Passing through. You know how it is." Dale was watching Pete closely now, wondering where this was going.

We'd planned this part too. Pete pulled a battered photo out of his back pocket and laid it on the counter. It showed Hector with his arm round Daisy. Two hundred-dollar bills peeked out from underneath it. Right before Pete spoke I caught his thought that these two would rat out their own mothers for much less than that. He taped the photo. "That guy fucked with my sister. I'm real eager to find him. He's from Texas. He'd have passed through in the last month or so."

Pete let them have a good look-see, and then spread his hand protectively over the pile. They both frowned, searching their memories.

And so did I, just to make sure they didn't lie.

"No, don't remember him," Dale said, with a disappointed sigh. His honesty surprised me until I heard him think that pissing Pete off with a lie was a real bad idea.

Caleb wasn't so ready to give up, and his hand twitched as if to snatch at the money. "What about those guys that showed up a while back, round Christmas time? One of 'em was from Dallas, big Cowboys fan…"

He saw the spark of interest on Pete's face and pounced on it, rambling on about three werewolves who'd crashed a party, wolves no-one had seen before. They'd turned up a few times, and then vanished. Moved on, he reckoned, but Hector might have been with them.

Daisy had described a couple of twoeys she knew from Houston who might be helping Hector, but disappointingly none of faces in Caleb's memories matched them. I did get a real clear image from Dale though: a bird's eye view of a street map, zoomed in on the area where these out-of-towners had been staying. He was a real visual guy.

Caleb wound up his story and eyed the money hungrily. I patted Pete's thigh twice. Once meant keep asking; twice meant I had everything. Pete took his hand away, pocketing the photo and one of the bills. Caleb shot him a sharp look, but Pete just shrugged and said, "Maybe the fucker was with them, maybe he wasn't. Be grateful you're getting that much."

"Better be careful," Caleb said sourly, snatching up his reward. "You get caught beating on someone now, cops are gonna have itchy trigger fingers."

"No shit," Pete said, getting to his feet. "I wasn't born yesterday."

"Cops might just take it into their heads to pin the preacher on you too," Caleb said darkly. _Wouldn't be the first time._

The bitterness of his thought shocked me into speaking. "Won't they want to find the real killer?"

He glared at me. "Cops don't care who takes the blame darling, long as it's one of us." _Hell, wouldn't put it past the packs to nail it on a lone wolf either, just to get things settled down._

As Pete steered me towards the door I had a sinking feeling some bright spark might well decide that delivering up an innocent scapegoat was a great idea, but that would never work. Not while Hector was still out there, free to kill again. Even if we stopped him, it would take a miracle to calm the situation down.

Unless...

Caleb had given me an idea. Once we found Hector, what if one of the packs claimed they'd 'caught' the killer and turned him over to the police in a flurry of publicity? That might undo some of the damage.

I wasn't sure Daisy would go for that, though. Turning Hector in would lead the authorities back to her other friends from Tooth 'n Claw and then… Well, that might make things worse. A lone killer was easy to pass off as a bad apple, but a whole group? That would make folks even less inclined to tolerate twoeys.

I put my speculations away as we got into Pete's pickup. As soon as the door shut behind me I spilt everything I'd heard. I tugged the street atlas out of the glove compartment, flicked through it and pointed out the block I'd seen in Dale's mind.

"Here. This is where those werewolves were staying."

Daisy took the map from me, pursing her lips and nodding as Pete whistled softly. "Damn, girl. That's some talent you got."

I shrugged. "They might not be anything to do with Hector, though. One of them being from Dallas is a pretty slim lead."

Daisy looked up. "You did good. Your plan was a good one."

I shrugged the praise off too, mumbling something about doing this because I had plenty of twoey friends.

No need to mention the other reason I was determined to get this investigation over and done as quickly and efficiently as possible. The reason that had me glancing at the sky, estimating the time until sunset. The reason that had me itching with trepidation as the light faded.

Not that I was going to ask Daisy what time said reason was arriving.

No need let her know how much the thought of dealing with Eric was unsettling me before he was even here.

Pete was bushed. He'd had a long drive over from Texas to meet us, so we dropped him off at the motel. One eye on the darkening sky, I went with Daisy to grab some fast food. I figured a certain someone would be staying at Russell's, and that meant I had time enough to eat before I needed my game-face. But there was a line at the drive-thru, and the sun was gone by the time we were done.

…

The motel balcony shuddered slightly with our footsteps. Pete had the room before ours and Daisy knocked at his door to let him know we were back. He called out he was just getting out the shower and Daisy barged right on in. Pete wasn't my brother and I really had no desire to see him in a state of undress, so I didn't follow. Instead, juggling the bag of food and a tray of sodas, I wrestled the room key out of my jeans and opened our door. My mouth watered at the smell of hot, greasy food and I crossed to the table. As I was putting the sodas down, a movement in my periphery made me look up.

I gasped, dropping the food bag heavily onto the table.

Eric was stepping out of the bathroom, like a pale avenging angel floating on a cloud.

Or a devil wreathed in smoke from the pits of hell. He was naked, except for a single, too-small towel wrapped around his waist and another around his neck. His hair hung dark and wet, and beads of water glistened on his chest and shoulders and arms. A pulse thrummed in my ears, so loudly that I saw rather than heard him say my name.

"Eric," I replied, and it came out breathier than I wanted.

He smiled – and the small part of my mind that wasn't frozen in shock noted it was the quick, easy smile of a man with things on his mind greeting a friend. Not the teasing smirk he wore when he was deliberately flirting, and I felt a twinge disappointment over its absence.

He said something about Pete letting him in, but I barely heard it. He took the towel from around his neck to rub his hair, which at least meant I didn't have to look him in the eye, but the movement did interesting things to his chest, things that made my mouth as dry as a sand dune. A bead of water trailed down towards his navel, and I swallowed, hard, fighting the urge to quench my thirst on damp skin.

When he tossed the towel on the bed and reached for the one at his waist, my eyes followed his hands automatically. I almost sighed when he turned his back.

Not that that helped any. Once the second towel landed on the bed, I had a great view of that world class ass as it disappeared inside the jeans he was pulling on. That sparked some extremely pleasant memories that held me captive, frozen in place until he straighten up.

A dozen stripes criss-crossing his lower back caught the light, shining paler than his skin. The spell broke.

"Those are new scars."

Eric stilled, and it took me a second to realise the voice came from behind me. The words could have be mine but for the curiosity behind them: I'd seen those scars before, although they'd paled some since that night in Pam's office.

Daisy was the one who'd spoken, leaning in the doorway behind me, her eyes fastened on Eric. He turned to face her, raised an eyebrow and said a single word I didn't recognise, but I could hear the question in it.

Daisy nodded gravely, and said something back in words that weren't English. Something was off about her voice, more than the language she was using. She didn't sound like herself.

Eric's face went blank at whatever she said, and his reply was short, dismissive.

She moved towards him though, gliding past so close to me that I brushed her mind unintentionally. It was smooth and still, no drums, no multitude of voices this time. Just a picture that made me pull back mentally as if I'd touched a hot stove: Eric, bare-chested and grinning around his fangs, mouth black with blood and skin glowing faintly in the moonlight, luminous against a bank of dark snow.

That snapped me back to reality like a bucket of ice-water.

"I take it you two have met," I said evenly, busying myself with the food to give them a moment.

But the mood broke and Daisy gave herself a shake and stepped back, eyeing Eric speculatively. "My grandmother remembers you well, Northman."

Oh. Her grandmother. And Eric. Right.

Well, he _had _been around a long time. At least Daisy sounded like herself again, if rather amused. The cold silence from Eric told me he was less so.

I kept my back to him, replaying the scene I'd walked in on, trying to work out what he was up to while I got the meal unpacked. Was he flirting or not? I waved Daisy over to eat and only then did I turned to face him.

He'd put on a t-shirt. Something old and faded I was pleased to see, both because it made him seem like the Eric I knew and because I was still in the scruffy clothes I'd worn to the diner. I didn't need to feel at any more of disadvantage for this conversation.

"Slumming it, Eric?" I nodded at the bathroom. "I know for a fact Russell's place is nicer."

"I am not staying at Russell's." I gave him a questioning look and he explained. "It is better no-one knows I am in Jackson."

Good point. De Castro, for one, would love to catch him unguarded. But that didn't entirely explain the little scene I'd walked in on. I said suspiciously, "So the place you're staying…"

"Is lacking in facilities, yes," he finished smoothly. "The bear offered yours."

"Oh."

Maybe I was making too much of this. Eric had never been shy about walking around butt naked, although I was sure Rory would have something to say about it. Lord knew what she made of what he was up to with Iowa at the summit, but I was filing that under 'none of my damn business'.

I muttered under my breath, "Bet your girlfriend is real happy you're here with me and grandma's ghost."

Of course Eric heard me. "Girlfriend?" he asked blandly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

I waved a hand. "Whatever you call her. Lady friend, significant other, your latest squeeze."I shut my mouthbefore I got to _lover, _knowing it would come out sour. Such a convenient term that one, no need to remember a name.

"And which_ her_ is this?" Eric asked, his eyes twinkling.

Son of a bitch was going to make me say it. "Rory," I admitted stiffly.

"She is none of those things to me," he said seriously. "That … position is vacant. Rarely filled, in fact."

"Oh, sure," I said pointedly, remembering Oskar's comment. "Y'all usually just hit it and quit it, huh?"

His eyes met mine. "Not always."

A reply burned the tip of my tongue, but Thalia walked in before I could show myself up by saying something catty. Her arms were full of newspapers. She walked straight over to Eric and dumped them on the bed – my bed, Daisy had taken the one nearest the door – without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Thalia. What are you doing here?" I said, once I finished gaping like an idiot.

"Bodyguard," she grunted, lifting her chin towards Eric.

Who had switched to business mode. He had his bag and the wet towels off the bed in a flash – onto the floor, God forbid the man ever hang up a towel – making space to park his ass. Another blur and he had the newspapers sorted in two piles.

"Thalia, go through those," he said, taking a pile for himself.

She sat down too, and they began flicking through them at vamp speed. Biting my tongue, I picked up the towels and hung them in the bathroom. When I came back Pete was elbow to elbow with Daisy at the table, shovelling down his burger and eyeing mine. I grabbed it and my soda, and perched next to the TV to eat.

"Shouldn't you check the news channels too?" I asked, once I'd swallowed a few mouthfuls.

A flicker of a smile played about Eric's mouth and he murmured, "Good idea."

Pete grimaced. "Already did, while you were fetching dinner. Nothing good, and nothing new since this morning."

"Tell me what you found out today," Eric said, not looking up. Daisy filled him in and began outlining her plan to check out where those three wolves had been staying.

Until Eric stiffened.

"What is it?" I said.

"We have a problem." He folded the paper he was looking at, and passed it to Daisy. I hopped down and moved to read it over her shoulder. It was an opinion piece, by a guy named Forester. Seemed like more of the same hysteria to me.

"What are we looking at?" I asked, confused.

"Last paragraph," he said grimly.

I skimmed down the column:_ … ferocious attack … family man … who knows how many wolves in sheep's clothing walk among us … turn on us at any time … Rumours of similar attacks along the I20 corridor, one as far away as Shreveport._

"Shreveport. Well, that guy was bitten too, wasn't he? Someone was bound to put that together."

"Pam has a good press officer in Indira. That detail of the Shreveport case – the bites – is not widely known." He cocked his head. "How did you hear of it?"

I glanced at Daisy but she didn't signal me to keep quiet. "Um, New Mexico. He knew about the other murders too."

"Stan shares information with him," Eric said.

"Who else knows?" Thalia asked him.

"Rita, Russell, Zola…Too many." Eric frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "But this journalist should not. I will speak to Russell while you finish your meal."

He blurred out of the room, and I heard him pacing up and down the balcony as he talked. When he came back in, he took charge.

"We need to follow this up. Russell swears only a few of his people know about the Shreveport case, and none of them are stupid enough to leak it to the press. Either the information came from Shreveport PD…"

"Or the killers themselves," I finished. "They seem to want publicity pretty bad."

"Yes," he agreed. "This Forester might give us a lead on them. Russell has a contact at the Clarion who owes a favour." He smirked. "A jackal, appropriately enough, by the name of Vicki. I spoke to her, she will help. We should split up. Daisy, you and your brother investigate the place the wolves stayed. Thalia and I will go to the paper, find out how Forester knows things he shouldn't."

"Agreed," Daisy said, curling a lip at him and Thalia. "You two would only get in the way with the local wolves. Is this Forester human?" Eric nodded. "Sookie should go with you, then. We won't need her."

I couldn't think of a good objection, so I just shrugged. Eric reached for his bag, and pulled out some cheap phones. "We should use these."

"I have a phone," I said. "And so do you."

"Yes. One full of contacts that would identify me. I do not wish to be found carrying it tonight."

"Oh. Right." He was taking this cloak and dagger stuff seriously, wasn't he? "Don't you have to be contactable, being king an' all?"

He grinned. "You forget. Pam can always reach me."

Of course she could. I rolled my eyes at myself.

As Eric bent over the phones, I saw he wasn't serious at all. In fact, the last time I'd seen that particular gleam in his eye… Well, let's just say I knew he was humming with anticipation. His enthusiasm made me curious. Eric always did like adventure. How often did he get to lay aside the mantle of king and be himself like this?

Not often, I reckoned. I took the phone he held out to me and diligently listened to his instructions on how to silence it and make calls. Eric had programmed in the other numbers. No prizes for guessing who was number one on my speed-dial.

…

Downtown Jackson was quiet on a Sunday evening. It was cold out, and I was glad of the cashmere sweater I'd changed into when Eric told me to wear something plain and dark. We – that is Eric, with me on his arm – were doing a little reconnaissance and we didn't want to attract attention. I couldn't fault his black leather jacket on that score. He had his hair hidden under a cap and I was keeping my head down, avoiding any surveillance cameras.

I'd been somewhat alarmed when Thalia left us a block ago, but Eric just shrugged and said she was quicker and quieter on her own. I'd tracked her void and she was heading around back of the police department. Where the smokers hung out, I guessed, hoping to overhear them talking about the murder.

But that left me alone with Eric.

I was ignoring that, just like I ignored the feel of his arm under my hand. So far he'd been all business, and I was determined to do the same. I glanced across the street as we came level with the police department. The lights were still blazing, and there was plenty of activity inside. Good. I concentrated on the cops near the entrance, the desk sergeant.

_Give anything to be home right now _… S_hit just got real … Boss breathing down our necks … Wonder how many extra shifts I can swing …_

"Anything?" Eric asked quietly as we got to the corner.

I shook my head. It had been a long shot, maybe Thalia would have more luck.

He steered us across the intersection, and I couldn't help but look over at the little park and the red brick steps leading to City Hall. White stone columns glowed softly behind the trees, and I wondered if they'd left the lights on to reassure folks.

Or to discourage any copycats who might mistake the place for a morgue and take it into their heads to drop off another body. It wasn't like twoeys had a monopoly on crazy, there were plenty of ordinary human nut-jobs out there.

I shook my head as we turned left. We passed the parking lot for the Clarion offices and then Eric turned off the sidewalk into an unlit garden area. I found myself on a shadowy path that wound through shrubs and trees towards the offices.

"Where are we going?" I whispered when I didn't see a door ahead, or any sign of this Vicki we were meeting.

"Not far." Eric stopped under a large conifer that grew right against the building. It was real dark underneath it, but his face glowed faintly, enough for me to see his mouth move as he whispered, "We're taking the express elevator."

Before I could get what he meant, his arm slipped round my waist and tightened, and my feet left the floor. I stifled a yelp as we rose into the air and ducked against his shoulder, expecting a branch in the face. What I got was a nose full of leather, cologne and a smell that was simply Eric. Leaves brushed against my back, but nothing solid hit me and a second later we were in the open, landing gently on the roof, two stories up. I would have stumbled without his support; my stomach was somewhere around my knees.

"What the hell, Eric!" I whisper-yelled, pulling away and smacking him on the shoulder.

He grinned, teeth flashing in the light from the streetlamps below us. "Vicki suggested we meet here. Too many cameras on the front door."

He nodded to a dark square silhouetted against the roof-line. A stairwell. I spotted the orange flare of a cigarette at the same time as I sensed a twoey mind churning with impatience and irritation.

"Let's not keep her waiting," I muttered.

Vicki took a long drag as we got to her. From what I could see in the glow, she had short dark hair, a thin face and an intense stare. She flicked the cigarette away, and its embers lit up a mess of butts on the floor before she stamped it out. "Vampire."

"Jackal," Eric answered in kind.

"Who's the girl?"

"No-one you need concern yourself with." His tone said not to ask again. "Tell me about Forester."

"He's young, ambitious. Hungry for success." She paused. "Not real fond of supes, but he'll deal with them if it means chasing down a scoop. He step on someone's toes?"

Eric ignored the question. "Where is he getting his information on the killing?"

"I don't know." Her voice had sharpened. She was curious, but there was still a healthy undercurrent of irritation, mostly aimed at Eric. "Forester's a cagey bastard at the best of times. Guards his sources. He's got someone in the police department, but they're scrambling like headless chickens. Must be someone else."

"Is he still here?"

"Yes. It'll be tricky to get him alone. There's other people about."

…

It wasn't so tricky. Not with someone who knew the place leading us, and a vampire and a telepath who could hear people coming long before we saw them. It helped that the second floor was mostly empty this late on a Sunday.

Vicki – who was a skinny little thing once I saw her in the light – snuck us into to an empty office, making sure to pull the blinds down before she left to entice Forester to join us. She was using the perfect bait for a newshound: she was gonna hint we were twoeys with inside knowledge of the killers.

She reckoned he'd believe her. She was out and proud, so everyone at the paper knew she was a twoey herself. A couple things I caught from her told me that had cut both ways in the last few days. Some of her colleagues had pulled away, treating her with suspicion. Others who'd ignored her in the past had become real friendly overnight, looking to pump her for information.

Forester must've fallen into the second category, because he took the bait hook, line and sinker. He was practically panting when he walked in, so eager he didn't even notice Vicki locking the door behind him. Not that he had much chance to notice.

Eric stepped forwards, locked eyes with him and it was game over.

Forester was a short guy, with buzzcut dark hair and a crumpled suit, and the way his face went slack with the glamour didn't improve his looks any. Eric cut right to the chase. "How did you link the murder in Shreveport to the one here?"

I slipped into Forester's head as he answered. "I got an anonymous tip-off."

"How? When?"

"A phone call. Late one night, before the murder. A week or so ago."

"Before," Eric said significantly. We exchanged a look that needed no words: only Hector or someone with him would know there was going to be a killing in Jackson before it happened. Eric leaned forwards, bearing down on the man's will. "Think of the voice. Was it old or young? An accent perhaps?"

"Can't say. Whoever it was disguised their voice."

I grimaced, and shook my head to confirm that. I'd be hard pressed to recognise anyone from what I heard in his memory. Eric looked less pissed than I expected, and more thoughtful. He asked, "Did you record the call? Trace the number?"

It was only when Forester answered no to both questions that Eric's shoulders tightened and his presence became menacing. It was Vicki who asked the next question though, her eyes glittering with an interest I couldn't investigate, not while I was deep in Forester's head.

"You can't run a story with just an anonymous call," she said, sneering. "What else did you have?"

"Some crime scene photos from the Shreveport case. Came in the post yesterday."

I stiffened at the grisly images I wanted to scour away the second I saw them. A good deal of my revulsion came from the greed Forester felt over them; the guy cared more about his career than the brutality.

Eric hissed quietly. Whether that was at the implication someone in Shreveport PD had leaked evidence or my reaction, I didn't know. When I glanced over, he'd folded his arms and was back to looking like a marble statue. "Did you meet this informant face to face?" he asked.

"No. Never."

Eric tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, and I knew he was reviewing the conversation, looking for anything we'd missed. He met Forester's eyes again. "Did you meet with anyone else about this?"

"No. No-one else."

My breath caught. That was a lie.

There was a wall in his mind, a blank wall. He'd been glamoured. But not about the tip-off, or the photos, just about this. Why? My mind raced with the possibilities.

Eric understood enough from my expression without me saying a word. He loomed over Forester whose mind went as slack as his face under the full weight of a thousand year's worth of iron will. "Are you sure?" Eric said softly. "Think hard. You met someone who spoke to you about the murders. Remember that person."

I pushed hard too, drilling into his mind, past the white noise of Eric's glamour and there it was. Just a flash, the barest moment. The last thing he saw before the memory had been wipe away.

A pair of mud-brown eyes, with pale eyelashes.

I burned them into my memory before I pulled back and gave Eric a sharp nod. Eric switched smoothly into action, his voice deepening and gaining extra layers. "You will not remember me, this woman, or this meeting. You came up here with Vicki. She asked you to reveal your sources. You refused. She was angry, you argued." He gestured at the door. Vicki opened it, checked outside and indicated the coast was clear. "Go back to your desk."

Vicki watched Forester leave and then turned that intense gaze on us. She was furious that we'd kept her in the dark, and intrigued by the seamless way we'd worked to question Forester. She scrutinised Eric first, sure he was more than he seemed. Then she gave me a more lingering examination as she wondered what the hell I was. A witch using some sort of interrogation spell was her best guess, given she could smell the gris-gris round my neck.

Maybe the magic of the gris-gris prevented her realising I was a telepath.

Whatever the reason, she stopped speculating and nodded sharply to herself. She smiled thinly at Eric. "You work well together. She's talented, your pet witch."

Eric growled softly, and took a step towards her. "Whatever you think you know, forget it."

"This isn't my first rodeo," she said, her smile twisting into something bitter. "I didn't see you, you were never here. And my debt to Russell is paid in full."

"Yes."

"Good. You can find your own way out." And she was gone, taking her resentment with her.

Eric turned to me, dismissing her as beneath his interest. "Who was it who spoke to Forester?"

I sighed. "A vamp. He'd been glamoured to forget whoever it was. All I saw was the eyes."

Eric blinked.

"Yeah, my feelings exactly. Why a vamp? Could one be working with Hector to take out Chosen?"

"Possibly." Eric paced across the room as he spoke. "But why meet with Forester at all? The call and the photos should have been enough, and considerably less risky than meeting him."

"Maybe they thought the glamour would protect them. Y'all do tend to rely on it."

He chuckled. "We do. But whoever it was did not count on you."

"Us. I doubt I'd have seen even the little I did without your help."

He grinned. "Vicki was right. We do work well together."

I looked away, and cleared my throat. "Maybe this vamp glamoured Forester to be sure he'd react the right way when they contacted him."

"Yes, perhaps. To keep him from going too far. He is … tenacious."

"Like a pitbull," I said, grimacing. "Why didn't you get him to destroy the photos?"

"That would be out of character for Forester, don't you think? There's a chance this vampire is watching him. It would be better not to alert them."

I thought that over. "You're going to tell Russell."

"Of course. He'll put a watch on Forester. If this vampire approaches him again…" He shrugged, as if to say it wouldn't be pretty, and looked at the door. "We should go. Is it clear?"

I listened for a second and nodded.

I should have listened for longer and stretched my mind out further, but I was busy puzzling over what we'd learned. I followed Eric out of the office, and we turned into a long, dark corridor than ran the length of the building.

It was empty.

It was still empty when we were halfway along it but Eric stopped on a dime, hand on my arm. "Someone is coming," he hissed. The lights came on in a side corridor up ahead, cutting us off from the stairs to the roof. "Can we go back?"

I reached out to check behind us. Shit.

"No," I whispered urgently. "Security guard, coming our way."

The guard would turn the corner any second, and the murmur of voices ahead was loud enough for me to hear now and getting louder. Eric whipped round, casting for way out, his fangs snicking down. A beat later he gathered me in his arms and the world blurred and shifted past as a blast of air ruffled my hair. A door opened and we were through it, and into the dark, the door closing softly after us, shutting out the danger.

The danger of being discovered.

There were other dangers involved in finding myself in a small space, my heart racing and my body pressed against Eric's. I froze for long seconds, fighting memories and a dizzy sensation of falling that didn't entirely come from moving at vamp speed. Eric stood stock-still, a coiled predator, a patient, waiting, presence that enveloped and overwhelmed me.

I was painfully aware of his thighs against mine, his solid, unmoving chest under my hands, his arms around me, his scent. His lips, waiting in the dark above me.

All I had to do was tilt my head, stretch up…

I closed my eyes. Willed my breath to slow, my heart to quiet, the electric thrill to wash out of my blood. Slowly, too slowly, the drumbeat in my ears faded to a dull murmur.

Eric whispered, the sound startling me. "I cannot hear anyone outside."

Not surprising, over my pounding heart and heavy breathing. Shit. Maybe he'd put that down to fright. Please God, let him put it down to that.

"Can you sense anyone in the corridor?" he asked, loosening his grip and preparing to step away.

I did not sway closer. Definitely not. Did not happen.

"Give me a sec." My voice was hoarse, but I ignored that like a champ, hoping Eric would ignore it too. I spent a good minute reaching out to the limits of my telepathy, checking as far as I could. It helped settle me. The people who'd come up here were tucked away in an office now, and the guard was gone. "We're good to go."

Eric opened the door, spilling light into our hideout, which turned out to be a supply closet. He went first, which had the advantage that he couldn't see the blush burning my cheeks. We made it to the stairs, up them and out into the cool night air without incident. I took deep cleansing breaths as we crossed the roof. It wasn't until we got to the edge I realised we had to go down the way we'd come up.

"Your elevator," Eric said, turning to me and opening his arms. He was serious this time, not a smirk in sight. Or a fang. I hadn't noticed that he'd retracted them, but I'd been more than a little flustered.

A smirk have would have been easier to deal with than the solemn expression he was wearing. I swallowed the awkwardness, aiming for nonchalance as I stepped into his embrace.

I don't think I fooled either of us.


	39. Puzzle Pieces

Thanks for the reviews!

This one is hot off the presses, so forgive any typos. I'm on vacation next week, so see you in a fortnight. Enjoy!

* * *

**Puzzle Pieces**

* * *

Sookie was stiff in my arms. She stepped away as soon as we were on the ground, turning towards the street without a word. The path was dark to human eyes, so I kept pace with her, my hand hovering by her elbow until we got to the sidewalk and she put more space between us.

I didn't object. Tonight had been a scouting mission on two fronts, and I had much to consider, not just the mystery of the vampire who appeared to be helping Hector and his renegade wolves. Sookie was a puzzle too, one that was far more enjoyable to ponder.

I was cautiously optimistic after the insight I'd gathered from her actions. Strangely, it wasn't her staring when I just _happened_ to step out of the shower as she walked into the motel room, nor was it her very flattering reaction while we were pressed together in that closet that inspired my optimism. As she said herself, she and I had always shared big, big lust.

That had never been our problem.

Whilst it was gratifying to know that spark still burned – and I wasn't above using it to get what I wanted either – other things were more telling.

First, the completely natural way she told me off after her impromptu 'elevator' ride, even at ease enough in my company to hit me. Second, the way we had communicated instinctively, often without words, during Forester's interrogation. Those both spoke of a connection borne of familiarity, a deeper understanding.

Something more than the physical.

And that, ultimately, was what I wanted to win from Sookie. Although something physical would be a fantastic bonus. It had tested my willpower, staying still in that closet.

But I had, because I'd decided tonight was for fact-finding. Feeling her out, not feeling her up. I would move to overt flirting once I was sure it would tease her closer, not push her away. Perhaps tomorrow night.

I was looking forward to it.

We walked a block silence, and I didn't break it. Thalia caught up with us. She didn't speak either, not until we were back at the SUV, the one Russell had had delivered to the motel sometime in the day. There were advantages to being here at his invitation, albeit unofficially.

Sookie took the back seat. I didn't object to that either.

Once we were under way, I turned to Thalia, "So what are the Jackson police up to?"

She snorted. "Stumbling in the dark. They have nothing. Their informants have nothing. Forensics can only tell them the bare minimum. It was shapeshifters. Large canines, probably wolves, and at least two."

"You heard all that from gossip in the back alley?" Sookie murmured, leaning forwards.

Thalia's lip curled as it always did when a human asked a question she considered too stupid to acknowledge.

Which Sookie's was if you knew Thalia well. She would never waste her time in an alley, passively listening to beat cops who would know less than nothing, maybe only wild rumours. With her age and stealth, Thalia would have no problem getting into the building, tracking down someone senior and extracting more accurate information.

Perhaps not even with glamour. There were other ways.

I was careful not to ask. Technically, Thalia wasn't my subject. Technically I wasn't even here, so I couldn't have ordered her to glamour an officer of the law. If she had and there was fallout from it, Thalia knew it would be on her head.

I would pay the fine though.

I didn't explain any of that to Sookie. Instead, I asked Thalia what the local cops were planning to do.

"Haul in every wolf with a rap sheet and _grill them till they fess up_." Thalia pulled a sour face as she gave a passable imitation of the local accent. "Not literally. Sadly."

"They have to work within the law," I said with a shrug, and we exchanged a look that expressed our complete disdain for human interrogation techniques. In the mirror, Sookie rolled her eyes and I thought for a moment that she was indicating a disapproval of vampires, but apparently her disdain was directed elsewhere.

"Well hell," she muttered, "won't that just make the twoeys as mad as box of frogs." Thalia turned her head to reply, her lip curling again, but Sookie snapped, "That's not literal either, Thalia. I know Weres can't shift into frogs."

Thalia faced front again and whispered too quietly for human hearing, "Some of them are slimy enough."

I gave her a pointed look, and then met Sookie's eyes in the mirror. "You are worried."

"You betcha. I spent the afternoon around the sort of twoeys who have rap sheets a yard long, and they're already plenty distrustful of the cops. Arresting folks willy-nilly is only going to make them more distrustful. And they ain't the type to lodge a protest at City Hall. They'll fight back, tooth and nail." She shook her head and snorted. "Guess that's where Daisy's friends got that stupid name."

"Perhaps," I said, grinning. The SUV's headlights swept the lot as I pulled into the motel. Clearspring's granddaughter and the bear were getting out of a pickup. "Ah, the others are back. Let's hope their hunt was more successful than ours."

…

I doubted that would prove to be the case once I saw the grim set of Daisy's mouth. But I could also smell her brother's anger from across the lot. He was busy locking his vehicle, and not meeting her eyes. Perhaps an argument was to blame.

I cocked an eyebrow at Sookie, and nodded at the bear as we walked over. She frowned, and then got that set, distant look that meant she was using her gift. A second later, she pulled a face and shrugged: nothing to worry about, or something not immediately relevant.

"Everything okay, Daisy?" Sookie said quietly when we reached them.

Daisy made an irritated gestured. "Inside."

They lead the way up the stairs. Thalia and I followed, the bear bringing up the rear and scowling at his boots. The wards Daisy had set on the motel rooms were impressive, but it only took her a second to take them down. Sookie unlocked the door and we followed her inside.

Using the room Sookie and Daisy were sharing was fine by me. Even with the lingering scent of fast food, it was far more pleasant than the bear's.

Sookie removed her shoes and jacket, and sat on the end of her bed. She rubbed her forehead once, but she seemed less weary than I remembered she did after prying deeply into someone's mind the way she'd done with Forester. Daisy and her brother took the table, and Thalia leaned against the wall by the door. I considered sitting on the other bed, closer to Sookie, but she didn't look like she'd welcome that. In fact, she was avoiding my eyes.

So I took a central position, leaning against the piece of furniture the TV sat on and stretching my legs out before I asked Daisy, "Did you find the den? You do not look pleased."

Her brother bristled, and harsh words in their native tongue exploded from his mouth. _"Don't defer to him. He's not in charge."_

I understood every word, and kept my face blank.

"_Bearwalking__,"_ Daisy admonished, slapping the table. Sookie jumped. _"Hold your tongue."_

He growled. _"I came for you, sister. Not them. I don't trust them."_

"_We need Northman to get into Texas. That's the end of it." _She glared at him. _"And he speaks our tongue."_

The bear''s head whipped round and he snarled at me, "Where did you learn that, vampire?"

I smirked. "Your grandmother."

Was that a worse taunt than _your momma_? I thought it might be given the flare of heat in his eyes and the way he tensed to spring.

"Enough," Daisy snapped. "Bickering gets us nowhere. This is bigger than the past."

She gave me an intense look, and I checked those hazel eyes. No trace of Clearspring. Good. Even for a vampire, it had been uncanny, talking to a dead woman who was looking out of the wrong eyes, wearing the wrong body. And Clearspring's pity over my scars had been unwelcome. I didn't welcome pity from anyone, ghost or not.

Her offer to avenge me had tempted me briefly though. The thought of a spirit hunting down Nadia in whatever afterlife had low enough standards to take her had a certain appeal.

But it was the granddaughter before me now and who said, "We must work together. Is it not so, Northman?"

"It is," I said calmly and repeated my question. "Did you find the den?"

"Yes, easily enough," she replied. "Our three little wolves were squatting in an abandoned house. The neighbours – the ones that would talk – said they kept to themselves. Haven't been seen since the murder."

"Scent was cold," the brother growled out in reluctant agreement. "Two, three days old. They gutted the place 'fore they left too. Nothing there."

"Y'all didn't find any trace of Hector?" Sookie asked, keeping her eyes on the bear.

"Nope. No-one else I knew from Texas, neither," he said, frowning. "But from what the neighbours said, they matched what you got from that guy in the diner. Sure as shit, it was the same three wolves."

I raised an eyebrow. "But we have nothing definite linking these wolves to Hector, or the murder?"

"They left at the right time," the bear said, folding his arms and glowering. "Covered their tracks too. Must've been up to something."

"Not enough," Thalia said, with a nasty smile. "How do we know they're the wolves we're looking for?"

"These aren't the droids you're looking for," Sookie murmured, then bit her lip, trying not to smile.

"He can go about his business," I said with a smirk. I couldn't resist handing her the next line, and it broke the tension simmering between the bear and Thalia. Plus it was worth it just to see Sookie's incredulous smile.

"Did you just quote Obi-Wan Kenobi to me, Eric Northman?" she drawled, amusement lilting her voice.

"Of course. Best damn scene in the movie."

She laughed. "You would think that. I bet you pretended you had Jedi mind powers for months."

"I don't know what you mean." I winked. I might have done that. Once or twice.

Daisy and her brother were looking between us, perplexed. Thalia sneered, and said, "What are you talking about?"

"A movie," Sookie said, unabashed. "You must have been to one. They show 'em at night, in nice dark cinemas full of juicy humans."

Fuck, I loved her sass. Nobody spoke to Thalia like that, except maybe Pam and she only got away with it because she was sheriff. Thalia screwed her nose up like she'd scented a six-month-old corpse, and I laughed at her. She hissed back, and I ignored her.

I was a safer target for her temper than the bear. She wouldn't actually attack me.

Probably.

Time to get back to business. "Did you find any hint of what these wolves were up to?" I said, serious again.

Daisy pulled a face. "Not as such. There was an outbuilding. Thick walls, no windows." She shared a dark look with her brother. "Something happened there."

"Something?"

"Couldn't tell you what. Just a feeling."

If she was anything like Clearspring, that feeling could be trusted.

"It was spotless. Too clean," the bear said slowly. "Like the house. Three guys shoulda made more mess. And there was this smell..." He stared into the distance, his hand moving back and forth over his chin.

I didn't wait for whatever he was trying to retrieve from his tiny brain. "We could try an endoplasmic reconstruction–"

"No," Daisy cut across me. She worked her jaw as if to spit, and disgust flavoured her next words. "The place had been salted."

Thalia and I both stiffened. Sookie looked between us, confused. "Salted?" she asked. "Like how conquering armies salted fields so no crops could grow?"

Daisy shook her head. "Not quite. It's a ritual, an old one. Quells the energies of a place. Certain spells won't take there, not until it fades. Not for months."

"Oh. Someone wanted their secrets kept real bad," Sookie said. She looked around the room. "So what does that mean?"

"It means," I said slowly, "a witch."

"Well, Tooth 'n Claw worked with a witch before," Sookie said, nodding at Daisy.

"That ritual takes power," Daisy said. "Aren't many witches I know of that could do it alone."

"Maybe this witch is a Were." Sookie looked at me and added quietly, "Like Hallow."

"Stonebrook?" Daisy said sharply. "I heard she was dead."

"She is," I said simply.

"Stonebrook … Riverstone." Sookie swallowed. "Y'all ain't related?"

Daisy's lip curled, which told me all I need to know about how she regarded Hallow. "No. A coincidence. Water and rock are powerful the world over."

"Right. I guess she'd be the wrong sort of Were, anyway."

I was impressed that Sookie had noticed the difference. Then I wondered if shapeshifters like Daisy's brother felt different to her telepathy, but before I could ask Daisy said, "Yes. Hallow's line goes back to Europe."

"That's it!" The bear, it seemed, had finally hit pay-dirt digging into his grey matter. "The smell. It was M.R.E.s. Field rations. Chilli and mac. Remember Dave bought some to take hunting, after Katrina? Tasted like shit."

"Hm. So our wolves might be ex-military," I suggested. The bear had proved useful after all. "That fits what you said about the thorough clean-up too."

Daisy sucked her teeth. "Ex-military or desperate. There was no power to the house, no way to heat food. Maybe that's why they were eating rations."

"Wait a minute," the bear said. "Didn't Hector know someone ex-military? That skinny guy. Met him at that cookout, at Frank's place."

Daisy looked at him blankly, but Sookie leaned forward and said, "A skinny guy, dark hair? That could be one of our three Weres. Show me his face."

He coughed, flushing. "I don't know as I remember it real well. But I can sure try." He closed his eyes, his forehead wrinkling as if he was considering a complicated chess strategy.

Sookie closed her eyes to concentrate too, and I revelled in the opportunity to drink her in. Her hair, her jaw, the curve of her shoulder, the flare of her waist, the lines of her arm as she leaned on the edge of the bed, her hand clutching at the bedding...

That brought a deluge of memories that made me want to pounce on her.

All too soon, she sat up and sighed. "Can't tell. Might be him, might not."

"We need go to Houston then." Daisy said decisively. "Someone will remember him."

"Someone?" I tilted my head, inviting her to share further.

Her face closed. "Someone we will ask in the day, vampire. You don't need to know."

So she was still loyal to her former allies among the wolves. A loyalty that was admirable and gave me an excuse: if she was holding out on me, she could hardly complain if I did the same to her. That could be useful. Our partnership here was temporary after all. No need to tell each other everything.

"Very well," I said. "We go to Houston tomorrow."

"Yes. Now, I've shared what we found. Your turn, Northman."

I outlined what Thalia had learnt at Jackson PD, and what Sookie and I had discovered at the Clarion, the information leaked to Forester, and the vampire who seemed to be working with the wolves.

"A vampire?" Daisy said, mouth set.

Sookie was looking at the bear, her brow creased. "You don't think Hector would have worked with one."

That wasn't a question, so I gathered she'd picked his mind. I pointed out, "We don't know that the vampire is connected to the wolves. He or she may be work a separate agenda."

"Yes," Daisy sneered. "There are enough night-walkers who would broadcast this to the press just to cause twoeys harm."

"Not all of us," I said lightly. "Those of us with sense can see that is not in our own interests."

Sookie shook her head. "But this vamp knew there'd be a killin' here in Jackson. They must be working together."

"Not necessarily," I said, an idea beginning to form. "He or she may have tracked the wolves here."

Sookie raised an eyebrow. "So you mean this vamp stumbled on them accidentally and took advantage. 'Cus y'all are so opportunistic."

"We are, indeed," I said with a grin, only too happy to agree and move the conversation on before anyone ask how our vampire was taking advantage. I had a hunch, and I wasn't ready to share. "Speaking of which, I brought a vampire database with me. Care to take a look, Sookie?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Okay. I only saw the eyes though. That won't be much use, right?"

"Oh, this one has an excellent search function," I said casually as I moved towards my bag, still on the floor near her bed. I squatted beside it, and refrained from showing off Sookie's favourite part of my anatomy. Teasing her with an audience would only make her uncomfortable, not the reaction I wanted to inspire.

I pulled out the tablet I'd brought for this – Sanjay had set it up for me, it had some basic programs and nothing I wouldn't mind loosing, unlike the laptop I'd sent home with Goro – and sat beside Sookie, noting gleefully that she didn't move away or stiffen. She did glance down at my hand, and the signet ring I was still wearing in case my gift misbehaved – not that it had, not even when we had to hide in that closet.

Clearly surprise, excitement and lust were not emotions that triggered it. Perhaps only anger would do that.

Sookie made no comment on the ring. Just as I hadn't commented on the fact that she wasn't wearing Quinn's piece of silver junk any longer. I had a feeling that if I asked her, she would just say that she'd removed it while she was undercover, even though I was sure there was more to that story.

I started up the database and typed in the security key. The main menu opened and Sookie leaned in to look at the screen with interest.

"Wow. Bill really improved this."

"Oh, it's not Bill's."

"It isn't?"

"No. This is the Melrose one."

She cocked her head. "Shouldn't y'all be using Bill's? I mean, as he's your subject. He gives you a discount, I'm sure."

"This one is faster. Melrose is a New Yorker, he may pay his king a cut, but he knows quality at a reasonable price is what sells." I leaned a little closer, and she didn't move away.

"Oh. I guess Bill didn't patent his, or whatever you do for stuff like that."

"He couldn't, apparently. Something about using standard database tools." I pulled a face. "Sanjay, my tech expert, explained it, but …" I shrugged.

She chuckled. "Still hate computers, huh?"

"They leave me cold. But they have their uses. Ah. Here we go. What colour?"

"Colour?" She looked at the options on the screen. "Oh. Brown, muddy brown. I guess that's hazel."

"We can choose both, brown and hazel. Another advantage of this one – it has a more sophisticated search."

She looked impressed. "Okay. Skin, pick white. And hair... The eyelashes were pale. Fair I guess, but it could be red, or light brown."

"Every detail narrows it down." I waited a second for the results, and shook my head. "But that is still too many. Let me filter by state." I picked Louisiana and Mississippi, as our friend had been in Jackson and managed to get crime scene photos from Shreveport. That brought it down to three dozen or so.

"Look through them, see what you find." I handed her the tablet and showed her how to scroll through the list. While she was doing that, I pulled out my phone and sent a flurry of messages to Stan and Russell, updating them on our travel plans and warning Russell to put a tail on Forester, all while I watched Sookie out of the corner of my eye.

She was absorbed in the photos, biting her lip in concentration, a curtain of hair between us as she bent over the tablet. I wished I could reach out and tuck it behind her ear. She cussed softly after a few minutes and looked up, treating me a much better view of those blue eyes.

"This is no good, Eric. I can't see the eyes well enough in half these pictures to be sure. Sorry."

"You did your best." Recognising a face from the eyes alone was difficult enough, but there was a good chance this vampire was one who hid in the shadows and kept off the databases. As I took the tablet back to save the search, Daisy, who'd been talking to her brother in a low voice, looked over and caught my eye.

"That has magic on it," she said.

"It does." I judged she was curious, but not suspicious enough to accuse me of – of what I wasn't sure, but there was a hint of disapproval in her tone.

"I cannot cast on such things. They are dead to my magic."

Ah. Professional jealousy.

"What can I say? I know a woman who knows a woman." I made it light and joking to deflect further questions. I should have considered that she might sense Poppy's touch on the tablet. And on other things. That was a miscalculation.

As was forgetting that Sookie was listening.

"That would be the witch Pam knows, right?" Her eyes flashed with annoyance. "The one who makes necklaces."

"Yes. She's an interesting girl."

The hint that the rival witch was based in Area 5 must have been enough for Daisy and she didn't press further. But she did tilted her head, eyes narrowed as she shot me a piercing look. I got the distinct impression she was wondering what other secrets I was hiding, and I gave her my blandest expression in return.

I had solidified my theory about exactly what opportunity our mysterious vampire saw in these killings, and how deep his or her exploitation of the killers went. It was a theory that Daisy would not like at all.

Fortunately, I was under no obligation to tell her.

…

Thalia set her jaw and crossed her arms in a way that made me want to drop fang.

We were almost done finalising our travel arrangements. Or rather, I was laying out the plans I had already put in motion, and haranguing everybody to agree to them.

I hadn't expected an argument from the only other vampire in the room.

I had expected resistance from Daisy and her brother. He was a shapeshifter, they'd both made their distrust of vampires clear, so I was fully prepared to press the point until they admitted everybody staying in the same hotel would save time and made sense.

I had overcome their objections in a matter of minutes.

I'd expected resistance from Sookie too – I was footing the bill and she might consider that too great a price for her pride – but she'd acquiesced relatively easily. Maybe she'd gotten used to having her expenses paid during the summit.

Or maybe it was because I pointed out that The Elysium had far tighter security than the motel room we were currently arguing in.

Either way, I'd been relieved when the debate over accommodation ended quickly and I was _allowed_ to confirm the hotel booking. Next, I'd booked a commercial flight to Houston for the three breathing members of our merry little band of investigators.

By that time, Sookie had relaxed enough to chuckle at the name of the hotel. I wasn't surprised that she knew the Elysium Fields were a part of Hades, land of the dead – an appropriate name for Houston's premier vampire hotel.

Or perhaps not. As Sookie had pointed out, impressing Thalia no end, the fields were supposed to be a paradise set aside for the children of the gods and the souls of heroes.

I doubted many of the Elysium's guests fitted into those two categories.

It was only when I announced that Thalia and I would fly down separately with Anubis that the tiny Greek became a huge pain in my ass.

She wanted us to travel under our own steam for the remainder of tonight's darkness, sleep in the ground somewhere on route – which I was loathe to do – and travel on at sunset. She swore she was fast enough to reach Houston by midnight.

I didn't care. I wanted to rise in Houston tomorrow night. Who knew what trouble Sookie could find before the sunset, and I wanted be close at hand if some of Daisy's less salubrious associates took offence at a telepath nosing around, rooting out their secrets.

Thalia did not feel the same urgency on this as I did. She glowered at me. "If you won't do it that way, we should catch a flight now. Tonight."

"No," I said sharply, ignoring her defiant stance. I had used up my supply of tact on the others. "Planes get delayed. We cannot guarantee landing before dawn. Flying in the day is the most efficient use of our time."

"I do not like it," she said sullenly. "It puts us in danger."

"Anubis is perfectly safe," I said coldly. Sookie better not mention that Bill had gotten himself snatched from under their noses at Jackson airport, the very one that we would be flying out of.

We would not be getting kidnapped. That had only happened because Lorena had Russell's unspoken permission, I was sure. I did not think kidnap was what Thalia feared anyway. "What is it that bothers you? Is it the coffin?" I asked, a disdainful eyebrow raised.

"No," she said stiffly. "I do not like flying those tin cans."

Ah. She feared a crash landing, a fiery end while she was dead for the day that she could do nothing to escape. Why she was objecting now, when she hadn't objected to the flight down here, was another matter and one I didn't understand.

Perhaps she hadn't fulfilled her quota of belligerence for the night and needed to fight me on something. In which case, I knew how to handle her. I shrugged. "If you are not up to guarding my back, I can find someone else."

She drew herself up, looking ready to spit. "I will come," she growled out.

Sookie yawned just then, and Thalia relaxed even as her lip curled. "We should leave now, so the breathers can sleep."

It was long past midnight. I had no reason to linger, however delightful the thought of sneaking into bed with a sleepy Sookie was. And it wasn't so delightful when I remembered Daisy was in the next bed.

I had been sure to book them separate rooms in Houston.

"We should go," I agreed, standing and grabbing my bag. "Anubis will pick us up from Russell's. I must speak to him anyway, and I have calls to make before dawn."

"So do I," Sookie mumbled, rubbing her face tiredly.

To Quinn, I realised. I had no wish to stay around for that.

…

I called Pam from the SUV, and she answered in a flat, bored tone. "Your majesty."

"Sheriff," I replied solemnly. My feelings of betrayal had faded, and I'd tucked any lingering doubt over her loyalty somewhere in the depths of my blood before I placed the call. Instead I thought of my evening, and said cheerfully, "How is the nightly grind?"

"Terrible. Having fun, are we?"

I chuckled. "Yes. That is the point of playing hooky, is it not?"

"Alright for some," she huffed.

"I left you Oskar as a punching bag. Surely you didn't pass that up."

She laughed. "No, I did not. What do you need, Eric? I didn't expect to hear from you until you returned."

"Ah. Back to the grindstone then. Oskar filled you in on the Were situation?"

"Yes."

"Good. I need your contacts in Shreveport PD. A journalist here was mailed crime scene photos of our dead pastor."

She swore softly.

"Yes, quite. And there is vampire involvement."

"Who?"

"Unknown, as yet. At least one. The journalist here had been glamoured."

"Fuck a zombie. They probably glamoured their way to those photos too. I don't think any of my residents would dare, I make it clear what would happen if they messed with the cops. I'll send Heidi out, see if she can track down any non-residents who've been skulking in Area 5. The last sweep she did was clear, but you never know."

"Good. It might not have been glamour at your end. Find out who in Shreveport PD had access to the evidence, and who might bear the shapeshifters enough of a grudge to leak this to the press."

"That's probably half of them, given the fuss some of them made about Maxwell attending crime scenes. I'll put him on that right away. And warn Indira. How much fallout are we expecting?"

"Russell will make sure the photos don't come out, but at least one newspaper has already mentioned the Shreveport murder. Someone will pick that up. Expect questions to be asked."

"Great. I'd better warn Alcide."

"Yes. Tell him to keep a tight leash on his pack."

"Do you have any idea who the vampire is?"

"No." I turned my theory over, examined its angles. I couldn't see a fault. "But the more I think about it, the more I think this is not about a grudge with the Weres."

She was silent for a long moment, until I felt a slight change in our connection. "Oh," she said softly. "Of course."

Good, she'd guessed at what I meant. I did not want to say more, not over an unsecured line. "Call me when you have results, Pam."

"I will, Eric."

…

Russell met us on the porch. He was wearing slacks and a white silk shirt, which was as casual as I'd ever seen him. "You're leaving Mississippi already." I nodded, and he offered, "A warm meal perhaps? In the tradition of Southern hospitality."

"Bottled will be fine," I said. "We need to speak."

"Oh dear," he drawled, "Bernard will be disappointed. He was hoping to share."

I rolled my eyes. "Perhaps Thalia will partake." It might put her in a better mood.

She gave what might have passed for a smile on a shark. "Bernard will be eating alone. I don't share."

Russell laughed. "I bet you share with the Reckoner. He's a dark horse, that one. How long have you known him?"

Thalia snorted. "Long enough. Where's this meal?"

Russell waved a hand. "Bernard will show you. Come, Eric. Let's go to my office. Stan called, he wants to be kept in the loop."

It wasn't much later that I found myself leaning back on one of Russell's over-stuffed couches, sipping warm blood. Stan had joined us by virtue of a screen on the wall, and he was currently thinking over what I'd told them. They'd taken our lack of progress better than I expected.

Russell leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. "Hm. I agree Forester is our best lead here, if, and I stress _if_, this vampire approaches him again. I will keep a tail on him and" – his eyes glittered – "I guarantee those pictures won't make it to the presses."

"And you can influence Jackson's finest, persuade them to go softly, softly with our furry friends?" I asked.

"I can bring some pressure to bear. But that will only go so far, especially if someone digs deeper and links the murders." He gave me a long, considered look. "What do you make of this vampire, Eric? You have had longer to think this over."

I finished my blood, and stretched to put the glass down on the end table beside me before I answered. "It is possible someone else has connected the cases, and just wants to make certain the blame falls on the Weres. But I think it is more than that. I think this vampire, or his master, has taken over Hector's campaign and twisted it to fit their purpose."

They exchanged a look and Russell said, "Go on, Eric."

I leaned back and spelt out my reasoning. "The deaths in New Mexico, Austin and Little Rock – the ones up to last July, the ones before Hector disappeared – they were carefully hidden, and the victims were all linked to the Chosen in Houston. Since then there has been a change. The killers are actively seeking publicity. Three murders in four months, all the victims are public figures, soft targets as they call them. In Shreveport, Amarillo and Jackson. I expect the next to be in Oklahoma."

Stan stiffened. "This is aimed at us, our alliance."

"Felipe?" Russell asked, half to himself. "Or Ohio and Tennessee."

"I lean towards Felipe," I said. "He has more interest in the South than Ohio."

"And has for long enough to seed plenty of his spies here," Stan agreed. "But it could be Tennessee. He could have heard of the killings by chance, and if he is truly pissed about Nadia's defeat that explains an attempt to destabilise all our states."

Russell shrugged. "Felipe will hold us all responsible for his loss of Louisiana, so by your argument it could just as easily be him."

"Whoever it is," I said, "I suggest we all watch our backs. And our local newspapers."

"I will warn Isabel," Stan said. "Did you tell the witch about this?"

I shook my head. "She might refuse to work with us if I did. She has little trust for vampires as it is."

"Let's hope you turn something up in Houston. Did the witch say who she wants to question?"

I grimaced. "No. She named no names."

"I could have her followed. See who she speaks to in the day."

"No. That is a bad idea." If Daisy spotted a tail, she would be furious. "Don't spook her, Stan. If Felipe or Ohio are behind this, we need her."

…

I had half-expected Russell to put our travel coffins in the room I had shared with Sookie after she was staked, but it seemed he was uncomfortable allowing Anubis access to his home during the day. Instead, I found myself in a parlour on the ground floor, where two state of the art coffins were ready and waiting for us.

Thalia was muttering about the flight, but I wasn't listening, busy checking my messages before dawn. It paid to do that, because there was always one idiot who waited to the last minute to send bad news.

But there was no such idiot tonight, so I stowed my tablet and phones in the coffin ready for the flight. One of the perks of travelling with Anubis – no-one would handle them if they were inside there with me.

I fished the compass Poppy had given me out of my bag. Thalia went still when I dropped my fangs, but she didn't speak until I pierced a finger.

"Your blood," she said, inhaling and licking her lips. "I know that scent. You have fed on something old. Wild."

Ah. Emmett. If anyone was going to recognise satyr blood, it would be Thalia. I stared back at her, waiting to see which way she jumped. Would she want to know who it was, to feed from him too? Or had I offended some piece of her human heritage that she still held dear?

"Be wary," she said at last. "There are those who would punish you for taking such a gift."

"It was given willingly."

"That may not be enough."

I shrugged. "What's done is done."

She watched silently as I coated a compass needle in blood and spoke the incantation Poppy had taught me. The spell created a sympathetic link between the compass and a tiny ampoule of my blood embedded in the phone I'd given to Sookie. The ampoule was disguised, just in case a certain telepath got curious. Poppy had bewitched it to disintegrate if the phone was tampered with too. Witches could do things with blood, things I had no wish to experience. I had overseen what Poppy did with mine personally.

A smile of sorts split Thalia's face. "A tracking spell. On the telepath."

"Yes." I held the compass in my fist, and it pulled in the direction of the motel. There. I would be able to find her, as long as she kept the phone with her. Even if it was off – an easy way to defeat a tracking program. I would not be surprised if Sookie noticed one and disabled it by switching her phone off. She was no fool.

This was more reliable. And all without sneaking my blood into her. She need never know.

"She will be angry," Thalia said as she got into her coffin.

"Better angry than dead," I said, tucking the compass into my pocket and climbing in. "I do not trust her to keep out of trouble."

I pulled the lid closed, engaged the lock and smiled into the darkness. Sookie could find trouble in a closet.


	40. A Woman Worth Her Salt

Annnnd I'm back! Anyone still out there?

I hope to keep up regular Friday posting until this baby is finished. Once it is, I may give it a final polish and put up a shiny, clean version. (I just tidied up the very last section of last chapter. Minor changes only, so no need to re-read that unless you want to.)

Thank you for the reviews from both regulars and new readers while I've been MIA.

Now, let's start tying up those loose ends...

* * *

**A Woman Worth Her Salt**

* * *

The Elysium was just like Silent Shores, all quiet corridors and thick carpets. I guessed that made sense; their undead guests had sensitive ears. At the check-in desk I got an explanation for my nagging sense of déjà vu too. The two hotels were part of the same chain.

Thankfully, reminders of Silent Shores ended with the décor. Our flight – an hour-twenty, non-stop from Jackson to Houston – had landed just after noon. Consequently, there was no ancient vampire playing statue in the eerily familiar lobby of the Elysium, waiting to take us on a driving tour of the city.

I should have been more appreciative of the one Bill and I had gotten in Dallas. I bet Isabel didn't do that for visitors to Oklahoma City now she was a queen.

There'd been no telepathic bellboy to greet us outside the Elysium either. The fresh-faced gangly young man who took our luggage upstairs was all-human, and a loud broadcaster at that. He was hoping for a fat tip to put towards his mom's birthday present. Daisy and Pete disappeared into their rooms faster than a pair of snakes into long grass, leaving that responsibility to me.

I didn't mind. I could run to a tip or two.

Eric, with usual high-handedness, had paid for three regular and two light-tight rooms, and mine was lovely. If that was reflected in the price, I reckoned Eric could afford it now he was king. Besides, Daisy had dragged me into this, and Mr High-Handed was tagging along for reasons of his own. It wasn't like I was living it up at his expense for the hell of it.

I gave the bellboy ten bucks after he deposited my case on my bed, and he sure was grateful for my generosity. I saw him out, wondering how Barry was. Still working for Stan, last I heard. As Barry still numbered among the breathing, I reckoned that was going as well as could be expected.

I glanced across the corridor as I closed the door. The rooms opposite were void-free, still waiting on their vampire occupants. We'd travelled separately, and I was grateful of that. Arriving via Anubis with a pair of coffins in tow would have been one reminder of Dallas too many.

I had enough of those with Eric around. It wasn't just Dallas he brought to mind and if I was honest the memories I was trying hardest to keep at bay were more intimate ones. Last night, once we got back to the motel and other people were around to act as a buffer, I'd let my guard down. I'd gotten relaxed, joking with Eric as if we'd skipped back in time and I'd forgotten our thorny past.

That had been far too easy to do. But joking around was preferable to the way I'd reacted when we were in that damn closet.

I'd felt a special kind of awful about that last night when, after Eric left, I found a bunch of messages from Quinn on my phone. I'd been so wrapped up in what we were doing, I had hardly spared my boyfriend a thought.

Naturally, Quinn had been desperate to hear from me, and by the third message he sounded distinctly disgruntled. I'd called him back, eager to hear the latest on Tennessee and his little blackmail scheme. Quinn had met up with Mr Cataliades. Everything in Memphis was under control, he had said, and I wasn't to worry.

I found myself saying the same thing to him about Houston not five minutes later.

He'd managed manfully not to complain about Eric until he heard where we were heading today. Quinn hadn't liked that we were leaving Jackson one bit, muttering about 'that damn bloodsucker' dragging me across state lines and into danger. On the surface it was that old, hoary chestnut – Quinn's need to be my protector – but I read between the lines. Underneath, I reckoned he was plain worried about me, and, like most men, he didn't react well to feeling powerless.

I could appreciate that. I'd insisted on tagging along when he came to Houston for much the same reasons.

To reassure him, I pointed out I had Pete for protection. When Quinn got all growly about that too, I added sweetly that of course I'd feel safer if Quinn was here.

That had soothed his ruffled fur.

As it happened, I did feel safer than I had when we came to Houston for the pack contest: the Elysium had guards on the front doors.

Travelling with Eric had its perks, not that I was about to mention _that_ to Quinn.

There were fresh flowers on the dresser too. I had some time to kill, so I ordered a light lunch from room service and unpacked. When it came, I ate soup with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, which was not a lot. Daisy's plans for the afternoon made me nervous.

Once again, I was investigating a hostile group who were only too willing to take the law into their own hands, and with my ill-fated trip to Dallas on my mind I was second-guessing how dangerous things might get. According to Daisy, it was perfectly safe. The core members of Tooth 'n Claw had fled Houston, and the folk still here, the ones we would be visiting, were hangers-on, not true believers in the cause.

That wasn't as comforting as she thought. Infiltrating the Fellowship in Dallas had been a disaster, and Gabe, the one who'd done me the most harm, was far from a true believer in Newlyn's sermons. Remembering him, I shuddered and rubbed my knee.

Strange, it had hardly ached this winter. The Memphis air must've done it good. I really hoped nothing went sour today. I had enough scars to last a human lifetime.

At least I didn't need to wear frumpy clothes and a wig. Daisy's instructions were 'dress nice', and as I'd had the wherewithal to bring a nice dress, that was what I put on. I'd found it in a vintage store in Memphis, like the ones Amelia had taken me to in New Orleans, and packed it for Louisville on a whim, imagining I might have time to do a little sightseeing with Quinn. I hadn't, sadly.

The dress was cream with a bold red and black flower print, and it had a full skirt and cap sleeves. Glad of a chance to wear it, I paired it with black heels and the smart black pea-coat I'd bought for the summit. It looked great. I would be investigating in style.

When Daisy knocked on my door, she was wearing an outfit like the one she'd worn to the restaurant with Niall: a tunic top, turquoise this time, with dark pants and boots, and a jacket slung over her arm. She eyed me critically and I wondered if I should have worn the gris-gris. I'd left it off, figuring I hadn't made enough enemies in Houston to need it. Only that were-bitch, Nancy, the one who got abjured at the pack contest, and she'd be long gone.

Pete, in a button-down shirt and slacks, grinned at me from behind Daisy and said, "You scrub up well."

"Thanks." His sister wrinkled her nose like she smelt something bad, and I realised what was up. "Something wrong with my dress, Daisy?"

"You look like you walked off the set of _I love Lucy_."

"Well, it's this or a pant suit," I said coolly. "I figured this beat looking official if we want folks to talk to us. Will it do?"

She muttered something that might have been grudging approval and turned away. I smiled at Pete, ignoring Daisy and her bad temper as we followed her to the elevators.

"Where are we going?" I asked, once we were on our way down.

"To see a wolf," Pete said. "A woman."

The elevator opened on the parking garage and he led the way to the car Eric had arranged for us – something anonymous and Japanese. There were other people about, so I waited until we were inside to ask who this woman was.

"She was married to the leader of Tooth 'n Claw," Daisy replied.

"Was?"

"He's dead," Daisy said grimly.

"Oh." Tricky situation, asking a widow about her late husband. "Did she, uh, support what y'all were doing?"

Daisy grimaced, which I took as a no. When she didn't seem inclined to elaborate, I brushed against Pete's mind. He was looking at a map, planning a route. Nothing about the woman, except that she lived in a fancy neighbourhood.

That was neither here nor there. I bet the Newlyns had lived in a fancy neighbourhood too.

As we drove through downtown, I picked out landmarks from my previous visit. We were heading away from the warehouse where Torn-Ear held their pack contest. Fifteen minutes later we pulled up on a cookie-cutter suburban street, lined with family homes that had neatly trimmed lawns and sprinkler systems out front. It seemed too Stepford for a vigilante, but what did I know.

"Sure this is the place?" Pete asked, echoing my thoughts.

"Uh-huh." Daisy nodded at a house across the street. The driveway was empty. "That's the one. She'll be back soon. We'll wait."

I got the distinct impression Daisy hadn't called ahead so she could count on an element of surprise.

It was mid-afternoon, overcast but warm for the time of year. Pete fiddled with the radio until he found a rock station. Two cars passed us in the next ten minutes, both driven by human women bringing their kids home from school. The third one was a minivan, and the driver was a twoey, with a second twoey and two kids in the back. The windows were tinted, but I caught a glimpse through the windshield as the van slowed to turn in. The driver was a woman with short dark hair.

"Stay here. You'll spook her," Daisy murmured, getting out. She paused when she rounded the car, and turned to pull my door open, leaning inside. "Not you. Come on."

She gestured sharply and a necklace swung free of her top. It was striking: dark green polished stones, smooth and round, separated by long pale beads that might have been bones or teeth once upon a time. The aura it gave off made me catch my breath. Magic, and powerful too.

"A talisman," Daisy said tersely. "Against unwanted eavesdroppers."

"Oh," I said, swallowing my unease. I wasn't usually sensitive to magic. The vibes from the Cluviel Dor had been an exception that I'd put down to its fairy nature. Flustered, I slid out of the car, leaving my coat behind on the back-seat.

We crossed the street. The kids had spilled out of the minivan onto the lawn, a little girl and an older boy with his mother's dark hair. They were arguing heatedly, but they shut up real fast when they saw us. Daisy put her hand on my arm, stopping me beside the mailbox. The boy, who couldn't have been more than ten, stepped in front of his sister and scowled at us.

Neither of them hollered for mom.

Their mother was the smartly dressed woman leaning into the open side-door of the minivan, gathering their things. She hadn't spotted us, but she turned around at the silence.

She reacted instantly, dropping the two backpacks she was holding. They thudded onto the ground as she put herself between us and her kids with a burst of unnatural speed. The other passenger, a teen-aged girl, came round the back of the vehicle to join her. Both of them took up fighting stances with that alien grace twoeys possess right before they shift.

Daisy gripped my arm hard, in warning. I froze obediently. The mother's eyes swept over me and widened in recognition. _Sookie Stackhouse. The telepath._

I recognised her too. From the pack contest.

Liz Carter.

And the teenager was her niece, Brandy.

Liz straightened up slowly, her mind a tight knot of wariness. Her eyes flicked to my companion. "Daisy," she said curtly and glanced across the street, where a neighbour collecting mail had paused to watch the show. Pete, who'd rolled the car window down to watch us, nodded casually at Liz, and the neighbour visibly took note.

_Shit. Nosy bitch. The last thing I need is gossip. _Liz came towards us, fake smiling as she weighed up her options mentally._ Don't think Daisy came to make trouble. Three of them against two of us, though. Might be best to have a witness… Hell, tongues are gonna wag anyway._

With a mental sigh, she gave the neighbour a friendly wave. Speaking out of the corner of her mouth, she said to Daisy, "Tell your brother to pull onto the drive. You'd better come inside."

…

"Thank you," I said politely as Liz handed me a coffee. Sipping it, I looked round. The lounge she'd shown us into seemed a little bare to my eyes, but there were a couple of family photos pride of place on the mantle. Liz and man who I assumed was her late husband, his arms around the kids and a proud smile on his face.

I guessed vigilantes loved their children too.

Pete, aware of his intimidating size, had stayed in the back yard for a smoke. Liz had gotten her kids settled in the den so she could catch up with her 'old friends' — a white lie Brandy hadn't bought for a second. She was stationed aggressively in the doorway to the den, as if we were about to charge in there and bludgeon her young cousins to death. The sound of a cartoon drifted in over her shoulder, the noise emphasising the tension.

Liz was less than pleased to see us. I knew that directly from her mind, and by the fact she was still on her feet.

Daisy, sitting next to me on the couch, didn't appear to give a damn. She helped herself to a cookie from the plate Liz had put out, dunked it in her coffee and began munching on it, face implacable. Guess it was up to me to break the ice.

"Great kids," I said warmly. "They're a credit to you, Liz."

Liz's mouth tightened briefly, but her thank you sounded pleasant enough. Brandy leaned against the door-frame and gave me such a sullen glare that I imagined she'd practised it in front of a mirror. Her mind pulsed with anger, and I bit back a comment about winds changing and faces setting.

The silence dragged. I tried again. "You have a lovely home. Nice neighbourhood."

"Yes, it is." Liz turned to Daisy, who had finished her cookie and was licking her fingers, and her voice went sharp as steel. "We're settled here. Don't need any more upheaval."

"Ah, it's like that." Daisy nodded sagely. "That's why you hustled us off the street. Don't want folks knowing you're a twoey."

Liz's mind pulsed with annoyance.

I sympathised. Daisy seemed determined to antagonise her. Really, the woman was infuriating. We were here to win Liz over, and she was going about it all wrong. I cleared my throat pointedly and put on what I hoped was a sympathetic expression. "Don't you just hate curtain-twitchers, I sure do. I guess y'all haven't lived here long…"

"No. Just since the fall." Liz nodded at one of the photos. "Scott was enforcer for the River Oaks pack, his father before him. They look after their own. Helped us relocate."

"Once it was safe to come back," Brandy muttered, transmitting a blend of anger and fear that had me glancing at her in alarm. She was staring a hole into the floor, with what I could only describe as a hunted expression on her face.

"Brandy," Liz said, her voice softening. "Would you watch the kids for me, please?"

"What? No way. I'm old enough to hear this."

"Brandy," she repeated, in a no-nonsense tone. "Go into the den and shut the door." Brandy huffed and hauled ass in there, slamming the door for good measure.

"What did she mean, safe to come back?" I asked, before I considered how intrusive it sounded.

"What, haven't picked it out of my head yet?" Liz said sarcastically and I flinched. She looked at Daisy. "That's why you brought her, isn't it? Ironic, when you were the one who warned us about her."

"Warned you?" I asked, startled.

Liz smiled wryly. "Yep. Look out for a blonde she said, goes by the name of Sookie."

"Oh." Liz had half-recognised my name when we first met. From supe gossip I'd assumed, but you know what they say about that and making an ass of yourself.

"Mm-hmm. Daisy told us to be real careful of you. Last winter, this was. It slipped my mind after Scott died. Didn't click who you were until I saw you deal with Nancy."

I turned to Daisy, eyebrows raised. She downed the rest of her coffee, unmoved, and took her time putting the cup down before she spoke. "After the Fed, you knew too much. Didn't trust you not to come sniffing round. Had to warn the group."

"I see." I sat up real straight and looked Liz in the eye. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't go poking into people's heads without good reason."

Not now I could shield at will and didn't have to listen to a barrage of stray thoughts anyway. And if I was keeping a bead on Liz's mood, she didn't need to know that. She was jumpy, I was just protecting myself. But I resolved there and then not to dig around in her head unless I absolutely had to. She lost her husband a year ago, her little girl lost her father about the age I lost mine. They'd had enough taken from them.

Besides, there was such a thing as over-relying on my telepathy. Wouldn't hurt to go about this the normal way first.

"Liz, you seem like a sensible woman," I said. "I think you'll help us when you hear what Daisy has to say."

"I don't know that I will, Sookie. Daisy and I don't always see eye-to-eye." Liz looked between us thoughtfully. "Although I can't imagine why she'd risk coming back to Houston. Must be something big."

"We're looking for Hector," Daisy admitted stiffly. "He's causing trouble."

"Hm," Liz said. "Is this something to do with what happened in Jackson?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, "it is. We just came from there."

Liz narrowed her eyes, scouring Daisy's face. She must have seen something there I couldn't, because she nodded to herself. "You've had a change of heart. Why?"

"Someone told me pouring oil on a fire doesn't work. He was right. So were you." Daisy lifted her chin, defiance hiding what those words cost her I reckoned. "Vengeance has a high price."

"Pity Scott already paid it," Liz murmured, bitterness flooding her voice and her mind.

"Yes," Daisy said solemnly. "He was a good man. Hector listened to him."

With a sigh, Liz finally took a seat opposite us. "Tell me everything."

Daisy did exactly that, surprising me. Liz listened with her mouth set and her feelings conflicted. She didn't like what she was hearing, but she didn't seem particularly appalled by the violence. In fact, her mind rang with grim satisfaction when Daisy related the earlier murders.

That puzzled me until Liz made a comment about justice. Of course. Liz, like Hector, knew the family that died in that awful fire. I'd overheard that at the pack contest and forgotten it. I could guess how she and her husband had gotten mixed up in this. Those babies must've been about the same age as their own.

Liz wasn't shocked to hear about our mystery vampire either, but before I could ask why that was Daisy got to our latest lead. "Pete met someone here, at one of Frank's parties. Skinny guy, ex-military. He might be involved."

"I'm not sure who that was," Liz said slowly. "Digger would know. And if Hector's been in touch with anyone here, Digger would know that too."

"Where can we find him?" Daisy asked. "Will he talk to us?"

"I think so." Liz looked at her watch, biting her lip. "He gets off work soon. I'll call him. You may as well stay for dinner. Better if he comes here anyhow. He's calmer around the kids."

…

Daisy jerked her head towards the house and I got the message: go make sure Liz wasn't holding out on us. I nudged the slider open with my hip and went inside. Liz was alone in the kitchen, dishing ice-cream into two bowls. "Need a hand?" I offered.

"Nope, I've got this. Just dump those by the dishwasher," she said, nodding at the dirty dishes I was carrying. She poured some fudge sauce over the ice cream, and we both looked round at the sound of running feet. Her son, Scott Junior, skidded to a halt in front of the counter.

The kids were excited to get pizza on a school night, and his little sister Heather, who was a sweetie, had begged Liz to let us eat out on the deck. It was a family tradition, and Liz hadn't the heart to say no. It was just lucky it was unseasonably warm.

"No running in the house," Liz said to her son mock-sternly.

"Sorry, mom," he panted. "Is it ready?"

"Almost." She opened a tub of sprinkles and he waited impatiently for her to shake them over the ice-cream. When she was done, he snatched up the bowls.

"Be careful," Liz warned. She watched him go, and I watched her. The harsh kitchen lighting shadowed faint lines around her mouth. Loss had marked her. When the creases in her forehead deepened, I looked outside. Daisy had disappeared, off round the side of the house to smoke. The kids were tucking into their dessert, and Brandy was talking animatedly to Pete.

"She's not flirting," I said, guessing at what was bothering Liz. It wasn't hard; Brandy was at that age.

Liz raised an eyebrow. "Thought you weren't snooping."

I shrugged. "I get moods off of twoeys easier than thoughts. She's just curious. Heck, she was a little repulsed by him at first."

"That'll be his scent. It's off-putting. His kind don't smell like other twoeys."

"Is he really that different to y'all?"

"Yes." She started loading the dishwasher, but looked back over her shoulder. "Ever seen one change?"

"Yeah. Pete, actually. It was something."

"Daisy explained it once. Way she tells it, we become the animal when we shift, inside and out. Pete, she says he's always one thing inside. One spirit, the bear. He chose to walk as a man when he was born."

"She calls him Bearwalking."

"I bet that's close to his true name." Liz shut the dishwasher and dried her hands on a towel. "Don't ask him what it is, they're touchy about that."

"Gotcha." Maybe they thought names gave you power over them, like that thing about cameras capturing souls. I wasn't going to question it, the things I'd seen. Heck, for all I knew Daisy could put a hex on someone with just a name.

"Don't pass shifting on the same way we do, either. Not by bites, not by blood."

"Oh." Hadn't Quinn said something similar about Timas's pack? I made a note to ask him about that. A kid's drawing pinned on the fridge caught my attention, four stick figures besides a house. It gave me a conversation starter. "Does Brandy live with y'all?"

"Yes. Her mom died when she was little. Cancer. I took her in after Gary—"

She stilled, tense and waiting. I didn't know what for, but something was wrong. The name nagged at me. Gary. Liz's brother. His picture wasn't on the mantle. Why on earth not? What was I missing?

"Poor kid," I said cautiously. "You did a good thing taking her in."

Liz just shrugged. She'd shut down, closed herself off. My intuition tingled, and I was sure whatever mystery she was hiding had some bearing on our search for Hector. I didn't want to invade her privacy and I couldn't rely on that elusive fairy charm kicking in.

I had to tease it out of her the old-fashioned way then: ordinary, human conversation. If I volunteered something personal...

"I lost my parents at seven," I said quietly, leaning on the counter and looking down as I scuffed the floor with the tip of my shoe. She would read it as discomfort. I didn't feel bad manipulating her; I reckoned she needed to talk as much as I needed answers.

"What happened?" she asked, lowering her voice and moving closer.

"Flash flood. Washed their car away." I skipped the fairy angle, not wanting to complicate things. I met her eyes so she could read the truth in my next words, though. "My Gran took me and my brother in. She'd just lost her son, lost her daughter couple years later to cancer. Never once regretted taking us on. I'm real grateful she stepped up."

"Must have been a strong woman."

"She was. A real steel magnolia." Like the one I was facing, as I was beginning to appreciate. It couldn't have been easy taking on Brandy after her husband passed. But I just knew Liz was carrying a heavier load than that. "What happened to y'all?" I asked softly.

She stared at me. "You don't know?"

I shook my head. I wasn't peeking inside hers, but I kept tabs on her mood. "You'll have to tell me."

"You really aren't snooping." She ran a hand through her short hair, and sighed. Her mood slid from guarded to resigned. Beyond curious now, I held my breath, willing her to open up. An odd ripple ran through her mind and her mood shifted again, from resigned to trusting. Was that my charm in action?

"My brother," she said slowly, "was Gary Danek."

"Danek, where do I know that…" Oh. That Gary, the werewolf who attacked that woman at Christmas, a year past. No wonder there were no pictures of him on display. His face had been plastered all over the news.

"What happened must have been a terrible shock," I said gently.

She closed her eyes and nodded. I reached out and squeezed her arm, a gesture of sympathy and a touch that might boost that charm. Her face relaxed into lines of grief as the dam broke.

"Yes. It was. I was still reeling from Scott's death. As if it wasn't enough losing Jenny."

…

How Liz Carter got out of bed every day let alone raised three kids, I didn't know. In the space of two short years she'd lost her husband, her brother and her best friend Jenny.

And worse, thanks to the Fellowship airing that convenient home video of Gary going all Animal Planet, after his death the whole family had been hounded out of Houston.

First, the place Gary and Brandy lived was trashed and sprayed with anti-twoey slogans. Some idiot outed Brandy online, naming her high school. She was harassed in the corridors, spat at. Liz pulled her out of school. Then someone made the connection, and threw a rock through Liz's front window.

The note wrapped round it said next time they'd set fire to the house.

Jenny and her family were the ones who died in that awful fire. Liz took no chances after that. Like any woman worth her salt she did what she had to to protect her kids.

She could have asked the cops for protection, but given her husband's extra-judicial activities she was disinclined to trust them. She went to the pack. A friend of a friend had an empty house in Dallas. Liz uprooted her kids and fled Houston without a backward glance. Months later they moved back, settling in a new neighbourhood where no-one knew them. Carter was a common enough name. So far they'd been left alone.

I asked how long she'd known Jenny. We were sitting at the kitchen counter like old friends by then, drinking coffee laced with bourbon.

"Since we were in diapers," she said. "My dad and hers ran with Torn-Ear."

She took a swallow of coffee, and I listened to her reminisce. Jenny and Liz been together through grade school, through high school, through teenage crushes and broken hearts. Been bridesmaids for each other, when Jenny married her childhood sweetheart from Torn-Ear and when Liz married Scott, a white-collar boy from the right side of the tracks and a rival pack. Been godparents for each other's kids, Liz's two and Jenny's three — two boys and a much longed for girl.

Saying their names put a tremor in Liz's voice.

I thought of Robbie and Sarah, Tara's twins. Despite our broken friendship, I'd known Tara all my life. If the unthinkable happened to them how would I feel? Sucker-punched, that's how. And if I knew it was murder, that someone was responsible—

I'd be out for blood.

Unchristian of me, but that was the unvarnished truth. It struck me as odd that Liz didn't support her husband's crusade for vengeance.

"I can see why your husband got involved with..." I gestured to the yard where Daisy was leaning against a railing, watching Pete toss a ball around with the kids in the fading light. "But why didn't you?"

"Oh, I wanted those bastards to pay for what they did to Jenny," she said, with an ugly laugh. "Don't think I didn't. I just thought it would tear our family apart." She looked at the kids outside and added softly, "It nearly did."

"You worried Scott might be killed?" A car crash she'd said, but she was convinced it was murder.

"I was more afraid he'd get thrown into jail. After the way the Feds handle the fire—" She shook her head and snorted. "You know they blamed it on faulty wiring? That was a damn lie. Jenny's husband was in construction, rewired the place himself. It was a cover-up, plain and simple. And an eye-opener. The bias against twoeys goes right to the top. Taking matters into our own hands was a surefire way to get our fingers burned."

"You thought Tooth 'n Claw would get caught."

"Yes. Scott was level-headed, but some of the others... Well, let's just say I'm not surprised to hear about Hector. But it wasn't a jail sentence I should've worried about."

"You think the Fellowship killed Scott then?" They had a darned good motive from what I saw in Lattesta's head.

"I did at first. But I didn't ask all the questions I should have, not until months later, what with the mess with Gary."

I took a sip of coffee, relishing the harsh taste of bourbon before I asked softly, "What happened with your brother?"

"It was two days before Christmas. Brandy was here, with me. Gary went to a bar, a Were bar, with some buddies. He was upset about Scott. Left early, but never made it home. When the cops arrived, six of them in body armour banging on the door at the crack of dawn, I thought—" She took a shuddering breath.

"That they knew about Tooth 'n Claw."

"Yes. It was a supe unit, heard of them? They're a Texas thing. Carry silver bullets, and those tranquillisers that stop a shift."

I winced, remembering Sam's run-in with Kenya, and the way he dropped like a stone. "Yeah. I heard about those."

"They'd come for Brandy and me. Told us Gary was a wild animal, that Texas was safer with him dead. Asked us to come in for questioning." Her lip curled and I had a pretty good idea how nicely the cops hadn't asked.

"How awful," I murmured. "But you didn't believe them."

"No. Gary was no angel, mind you. He had a temper, and a mouth on him that got him in more fights than I can count. But to attack a woman, in front of her kids, at Christmas? No, not even one of those Fellowship bitches. That wasn't him."

"Did you tell the cops that?"

"Uh-huh. They might have listened, but the Feds turned up. The same ones who investigated the fire."

I bet that was the task force Lattesta worked with. "What did they do?"

"Convinced the cops Gary did it. It wasn't difficult, they already knew he blamed the Fellowship for the fire. And Gary had dated Jenny. Oh this was years ago, in high school. It wasn't a big deal, but the Feds knew. They made out he couldn't get over her death, and losing Scott tipped him over the edge. But things didn't add up."

"Like what?"

"Well, you how good our hearing is. I overheard some cops talking. Gary took heavy duty pain killers now and then, for an old shoulder injury. But he was real careful with them. Never took them if he was drinking. Yet the blood-work said he'd taken at least four that night."

"That's mighty fishy."

"It is, isn't it? It was a week before the full moon, and those pills slowed him down. He wouldn't have taken them if he planned to shift."

Slowed him down enough that he couldn't avoid a shotgun blast, I reckoned. "You think the Fellowship set him up in revenge for Tooth 'n Claw killing their people?"

"Yes. Except Gary wasn't part of that. Hell, he didn't even know Scott was involved. I made Scott promise not to tell him. For one thing, Gary could never have kept his mouth shut. And for another, Gary would've insist on joining in. He was all Brandy had. She needed him."

"So why would the Fellowship kill him?"

"There wasn't anyone else for them to target." She bit her lip, feeling guilty. "When Scott was killed, I warned Daisy and the rest of them left town. We knew if the Chosen found out who they were…"

"They'd hunt them down."

"Exactly. But I don't think the Chosen killed Scott, not any more. A car accident was too clean, too neat. And perhaps they choose Gary at random. He was leaving a Were bar. Upset, distracted. An easy target."

"If you don't think the Chosen killed your husband... You think it was the cops? Or the FBI?" I didn't like to believe they'd stoop to murder, but Lattesta said they'd lost two undercover agents trying to infiltrate Tooth 'n Claw. Maybe the Feds thought better Scott died than more of their own. Lattesta certainly hadn't stuck to the letter of the law.

"No." Liz licked her lips, cautious for the first time since we sat down. "The Feds would have arrested him, made him an example. There's another possibility."

"What d'you mean?" I wasn't looking in her head for it. Didn't need to, she was going to tell me.

"Two days before he died, Scott met with a vampire. Stan's second."

"Oh. Joseph, right?" Who was missing, presumed finally dead.

"Uh-huh. He demanded that Scott disband the group, stop killing the Chosen."

"Vamps wouldn't side with the Chosen." Or would they? Vamps were opportunistic, and some had centuries of practice twisting humans to their own ends. I should discuss this with Eric.

I glanced outside, and a slight thrill went through me when I saw it how dark it was. Damn it. I'd managed to go all day without thinking about him.

"You're convinced Joseph killed your husband?" I said, re-focusing on Liz. No wonder she hadn't batted an eyelash over our mystery vamp.

"Yes. And Stan Davis—"

A loud squeal from the yard interrupted her.

"Digger! Digger!" Heather dropped the ball in her hands and pelted across the yard towards the guy coming round the corner, throwing herself at him. He caught her, laughing, and swung her round, lifting her high in the air. "Where's my favourite god-daughter?" he called.

"I'm you're _only _god-daughter, you big dufus," Brandy yelled back, a huge grin on her face. She got up from the table to greet him, and as he came forward, into the light spilling from the deck, I got a better look at him.

A big man, broad and barrel-chested, wearing a battered leather jacket. I knew him. Digger was bandanna guy from Torn-Ear. Small world, huh?

…

Half an hour later it was just us grown-ups outside and I'd had to fetch my coat against the nip in the air. Brandy was inside, supervising the kids taking a bath. They'd gone quietly once Digger promised to read them a bedtime story. He'd been a real good friend of Gary's, and he was like a second uncle to them.

With the kids were out of earshot, Daisy filled Digger in on the Hector situation. Turned out Digger, who worked construction hence the nickname, hadn't heard from Hector at all but he remembered that skinny ex-military guy Pete met down here. He took a long pull of his bottled beer before he admitted, "That'd be Jack."

"Jack-and-Nancy Jack?" I asked, just to be sure. Pete's memory of the party hadn't been clear enough, or I'd have known who it was. When Digger nodded, I cussed under my breath.

"Jack ain't your guy," Digger said, eyeing me warily and I just knew he was wondering if I bore Jack any malice for Nancy's attempt to poison Quinn. "He was right here all last week. Couldn't have anything to do with that murder in Jackson."

"He's right," I said, slumping back in my seat. I'd seen the three wolves we were looking for in that drug-dealer's head and even from his hazy memory I could tell the guy closest in build to Jack wasn't him. "Hector must have some other ex-military friends."

"You sure?" Daisy asked.

"Yeah," I said, sighing. Digger relaxed his grip on his beer.

"Hell," Pete said with feeling. "We came all this way for nothing."

Digger commiserated with him and Daisy. Over the next beer, they fell to discussing other local Weres who knew Hector and might have some idea where he was. Unable to contribute and feeling the coffee and the beer I'd drunk, I excused myself to visit the bathroom. The doorbell rang as I was finishing up, and a herd of elephants clattered overhead. I came out into the hall to see Heather opening the front door. Her brother and Brandy were pounding down the stairs after her.

"Hello," she said shyly, tilting her head back to look up and up at the tall figure on the porch step. "You have pretty hair."

"Thank you," Eric said, with a trace of amusement. He gave her his best, most charming smile. "May I come in?"

Before Heather could say a thing, Brandy snatched her up in her arms and stepped smartly back from the threshold. "Nice try vampire," she snarled.

For the first time I almost applauded her sullen glare. It was great to see it turned on Eric.

Eric, of course, didn't turn a hair. His eyes flicked to me, and he took a good long second to admire my dress. I ignored the heat that flooded my chest in response. His hair was loose, and he was wearing that leather jacket again. He looked scrumptious, and from the way his eyes crinkled when they finally locked on mine, he damn well knew it.

He winked at Heather, and Brandy growled.

How in the heck had he found us? I didn't think Daisy had told him where we were, precisely to avoid a confrontation like this. Oh hell, he probably tracked the damn car. He hired it.

Scott Junior folded his arms and gave Eric a scowl of his own, fit to blister paint. "You better git, mister. A vampire killed my daddy. You ain't welcome here."

Being challenged by a kid barely half his size and a hundredth his age obviously didn't faze Eric. To his credit, he didn't show so much as a hint of a smile either.

"I see," he said seriously. "You are the man of the house?"

I rolled my eyes. Of course, that was the line he'd take. You can take the man out of the eleventh century...

Scott nodded, suspicious. Liz came past me then, moving silently. She stopped behind her son, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

Eric inclined his head to her and stepped back slightly, but kept his eyes on the boy. He gestured at Heather, who was watching wide-eyed from Brandy's arms. "Do you like taking the blame for something your sister has done?"

Scott blinked at him, his mind searching for the trap in Eric's words. "No sir," he said reluctantly. "I sure don't."

Eric nodded gravely. "A vampire killed your father. It was not me."

Scott was a smart cookie. He got what Eric was driving at. "Don't mean you get to come in, mister," he said stubbornly.

"Even if I mean you no harm?"

Scott narrowed his eyes and glared at Eric. It was kinda adorable. "I don't trust you."

Eric broke into a wide, toothy grin. "You should not."

Scott finally broke eye contact, and craned his neck to appeal to the highest authority in the room: his mom. She lifted her other hand to his shoulder and squeezed, her eyes fixed on Eric.

Eric looked right back. "The lady of the house."

"Yes. And you are?"

"Eric Northman."

It took a second, but I sensed Liz's shock when she twigged exactly who he was. "Does Texas know you're in his state?" she asked bluntly. When Eric nodded, she turned to a side table and grabbed a cordless phone. "Then the local sheriff will confirm that."

"Yes," he said, completely calm.

She dialled, waited to be connected. "This is Liz Carter" – Eric flicked an eyebrow up at the name – "He is? Yes, I'll hold… Texas, I have a visitor from Louisiana on my doorstep … Yes, tall and blond … Uh-huh … Yes, just making sure. Sorry to disturb you … Thank you. You too."

She snapped the phone shut and looked at me. "He's with you?"

"Yeah." I gave Eric a look. "He was meant to wait at the hotel, but he doesn't heel well."

Eric laughed quietly.

"You're not coming in. Go round back" she said, and with a nod to Scott Junior, Eric disappeared into the dark. Liz shook her head. "I hope Nosy-britches across the way didn't cottoned on that he's a vamp."

"Oh, I don't know," I said breezily. "Shock like that might finish the old bat off."

"I should be so lucky," she said, grinning at me. She raised her voice. "Kids, back upstairs."

Scott groaned. "When is Digger coming?"

"Soon, son, soon. Off you go."

"The vampire was nice," Heather said softly, leaning out of Brandy's arms towards Liz.

"Scott was right, baby." Liz pressed a kiss to her daughter's head. "We don't invite them inside. And you, little miss, don't look them in the eyes either. We'll talk about that later."

Of course. Being second-born, Heather was destined to grow up non-shifting and vulnerable to glamour. Eric hadn't even tried it on her. Maybe he'd tricked so many little girls to let him in over the years that he was sure of an invitation without it.

That really didn't bear thinking about.


	41. Back and Forth

Thank you for all the reviews! I'll reply as soon as I can.

* * *

**Back and Forth**

* * *

I found Daisy and the bear sitting at a table out back. With a large wolf who surged to his feet when he saw me.

"Dead man's with us," Daisy said sharply. The wolf settled his bulk back into his seat as I came up onto the deck. "Tracked us down, Northman?"

"Yes." I didn't elaborate. The wolf's eyes widened at my name. As he was still twitchy, I kept my distance and lounged nonchalantly against a railing. Upwind, of course. No need to suffer his scent. "Any progress?"

"Nope," said the bear, scowling. "Military guy turned out to be a bust."

Sookie and Carter's widow joined us, taking seats at the table. Sookie's face was swept clean and guessing her thoughts was impossible. She was hard to read when she wanted to be, but from her behaviour in the lobby she wasn't thrilled I was here. Liz Carter was as Stan had described her: not easily intimidated. She was even less thrilled with my presence than Sookie, and was not hiding it at all. I preferred that. Better an enemy in the open than a hidden one.

"Where's Thalia?" Sookie asked me.

"Around." Reporting to Stan, so I wasn't bogged down with that task myself. "Any leads on Hector?"

The wolf answered. "Haven't heard hide nor hair of him since last summer."

"We are at a dead-end," I said.

"You might be, vampire," Daisy said, her eyes gleaming with the pun, "but there's other people to ask than Digger."

Digger? That must be the wolf-mountain. The names Weres went by got more bizarre by the decade. Pam had a running bet that she'd be first to find one called Rover.

"Let's try the bar," Pete suggested to his sister. "Folks know you there. Might talk, long as we don't bring the vamps. And if they won't talk…" He nodded at Sookie.

"The bar y'all used to meet at," Sookie said doubtfully. "They welcome humans?"

"Go as Pete's girl," Daisy said dismissively. "It'll be fine."

Sookie did not look pleased at the prospect. I said lightly, "Is the bear not pretty enough for you?"

"Oh sure," she said sarcastically, "that's what I'm worried about. Not getting hurt. Because fake dates are a real laugh a minute. You remember Club Dead."

Yes, I did. Particularly Alcide abandoning her. It would be a poor tactic to suggest the bear might do the same in his hearing, but reminding Sookie how unreliable the two-natured were would not go amiss. Much as I was loathe to bring Quinn up...

"Ah, of course. You've been to the Hair of the Dog. Wasn't there an incident there with the tiger?"

"No, there wasn't," she snapped. "And if you're implying the places Weres hang out are dangerous to my health, maybe we should take a moment to tally up how many times I've come to harm in your bar."

I raised my hands in surrender; a good general knew when to retreat. Pity, I was enjoying the fire in her eyes.

"Well," Liz said, looking curiously between me and Sookie. "Seems you're done here."

The wolf, Digger, cleared his throat. "Just a minute, Liz."

Sookie leaned forward. "You got something for us?"

"Might be another false trail, but this vamp sending photos to the Jackson press" — he cast an apologetic look at the Carter woman — "might be buddies with Velásquez."

"Joseph?" Sookie turned to me. "He's dead and dusted, right?"

"Yes. In February, in the fight for Arkansas," I said carefully. Stan did not want Joseph's near-successful attempt at treason widely known, least of all by the local Weres. A look of understanding passed between me and Sookie.

She turned back to the wolf. "You think Joseph was mixed up in what Hector's doing?"

"Nah, not the killings. But if your vamp was out to make twoeys look bad, he ain't the only one."

"You think Joseph was of the same mind," I put in.

"Oh, that fucker talked the talk, but he didn't walk the walk. Two-faced bastard," he said, turning away to spit on the ground with deliberation. He leaned back in his seat and eye-balled me. "But you put your money where your mouth is, way I hear it. Treated the packs fairly in Oklahoma City."

"So does Texas," I said, careful not to look at Sookie now Oklahoma had been mentioned. That was a can of worms I did not want opened. I looked at the widow instead, dipping my head slightly to her. "If Joseph killed your husband, I doubt he acted with Stan's approval."

"Probably not," she admitted. "Texas has been … generous."

"You were shadowing him," Sookie interrupted, still focused on the mountainous wolf. "Joseph, I mean, and you saw—"

"You in my head, girl?" Digger chided. "Let a man tell his own story."

"Sorry," she said, smiling sheepishly. So it was okay for him to tease her, was it?

Liz spoke up. "You followed him, Digger?"

"I tailed the bastard for a few weeks. This was after Scott died. Last January." The wolf took a pull of his beer, relishing his rapt audience. Sookie wore that distant expression that meant she was inside his head. "One night Velasquez almost gave me the slip. Criss-crossed all over town like a jack-rabbit with a coyote on its tail. Figured something important was going down. Caught up with him at a little place out on I59, near the airport. He met two people there. Couldn't get close enough to see or hear, but I hung around outside and saw a vamp leaving."

Sookie's eyes had closed. When he finished speaking they snapped open and fixed on me.

"Did you get a good look at him?" I asked. They both answered yes. Sookie blushed when Digger turned to look at her in surprise. Ignoring him, I waved her on.

"Digger didn't see the third guy clearly…" She wrinkled her nose, frowned, then shook her head. "The place was dark. But he saw the vamp alright."

"Could it be our friend from Jackson?" I pressed.

"It's possible," she said uncertainly. "He had the right colouring. But he didn't look like any of those mugshots from last night."

"Hm." Not on the databases at all, perhaps. That gave me an idea, a way to identify our mystery vampire and get Sookie alone. If I could persuade her to come with me. "You would recognise this vampire again?" I asked her.

"I'd like another peek, if Digger doesn't mind." She held her hand out to him. "May I? Contact gives me a clearer image."

"No hardship holdin' your hand, darling," he said, smiling at her and enveloping her hand in his meaty paws.

"Hush, you," she said with a giggle and I had to stop my lip from curling. "Close your eyes and think back to that night. Where you were standing, what the weather was like, the scents." She closed her eyes too, her brow wrinkling in concentration as she directed him smoothly. "Now, the door is opening, the vamp is coming out... That's it. Hold it right there."

A few seconds later, she nodded and opened her eyes. "I got it."

"Good," I said, infusing the word with praise. "We have a lead to investigate. Let's leave this woman and her household in peace."

To my irritation, Sookie disappeared into the house I couldn't enter, promising she'd only be a moment. I followed Daisy and her brother to the drive. They got into the car. I waited outside, near the house. I could hear Sookie exercising those Southern manners of hers, thanking the wolf for his help and the widow for her hospitality.

Time and breath I wouldn't waste in her shoes.

But she wasn't me, and the delay gave me time to call Texas. Stan agreed chasing down the most solid lead we had took priority over chaperoning Daisy. He passed the phone to his sheriff, and barked at him to get me whatever I needed. The hapless sheriff asked a few questions and put me on hold. I paced the drive until he came back on the line.

Arrangements made, all I had to do was charm the pants off Sookie. Smirking to myself at that image, I looked round. What was taking the woman? I moved back towards the door.

Sookie's voice was low."…seven, both at once. I understand."

"Yeah, right," a voice sneered. The sullen young woman. "Did you get orphaned and then run out of town?"

"No. But I never had many friends. Folks called me Crazy Sookie and steered clear of me. Even my brother had a hard time with my … difference. Gran was the only one who didn't."

Not a trace of bitterness or anger sounded in Sookie's voice. I was proud of her strength.

"Yeah, yeah," the girl said, irritated. "_Be grateful, Brandy. Don't give Aunt Lizzie any trouble_. Heard it a hundred times already."

"Uh-huh. I know what it's like to feel you don't belong, Brandy. No boy can fix that."

"What boy? There isn't any boy." The girl answered too quickly; she was lying.

"All I'm saying is don't be so eager to look for love when you have plenty here. You gotta carve out your own life before you can share it with a man."

"That what you did?"

Sookie chuckled ruefully. "Nope. I learnt the hard way."

"Yeah? How long you been with Quinn?"

Outside in the dark where no-one could see me, I pulled a face.

"Oh, not long. I didn't date until I was much older than you. Threw myself into it, made a lot of mistakes. Don't you do the same, Brandy."

"I'll try," the girl said, grudgingly.

"Good. Y'all take care of yourself, you hear." The faint rustle of clothing told me they were hugging, and I moved away before the door opened.

"What took you? Petting the wildlife?" I said, falling into step beside Sookie as she came out.

She looked up from fastening her coat. "Sorry. Just talking to Brandy. That girl has been through a lot."

"Ah. Very noble. A waste, though. The young rarely listen."

She stopped walking and said lightly, "Why don't you let me do things my way, and I'll let you do things yours."

"My way?" I asked, nonplussed. I wasn't in the habit of giving teenage Weres dating advice.

She gave me an uncomfortably shrewd look. "That 'man of the house' stuff."

I blinked and shrugged. "A boy stepping into his father's shoes was common in my time."

"Mm-mm." The corner of her mouth lifted. "For someone who considers all Weres are scum, you were real patient with that kid. And you aren't exactly long on patience. Something hit close to home?"

"No," I said. "He was protecting his womenfolk. I respect that."

"And so you made allowances. Like I just did for Brandy. We all have our little foibles."

"Touché," I conceded, stepping in front of her to open the car door. "After you."

…

"Baton Rouge? With you?" Sookie nodded towards the witch in the front seat. "What happened to keeping an eye on Daisy for Stan?"

"Thalia can do that. Take the next right," I told the bear, who grunted in acknowledgement. We were almost at the airport.

Sookie folded her arms, irritated and suspicious. "And there's no other way?"

"No."

"Fine," she muttered. "This better not be a trick to get me into Louisiana, Eric. Or so help me, I'll nail your damn coffin shut with you inside it."

Daisy made a choked sound and the bear snickered openly. I ignored them: "That will be difficult. I rest in a bed."

"Then how about I come into your room and—"

"Angling for an invitation to my room, Sookie? You only have to ask."

She huffed at me, and I smirked at her. Before she could hurl another insult the car came to halt. "We're here," said the bear unnecessarily.

Sookie peered at the five-seater Learjet waiting outside the hangar. Her eyes went wide. "Is that our plane?"

"Yes," I said. "Charter flight. So we will be back before dawn."

"Oh," she said quietly. "Fancy. I guess kings don't fly coach."

Of course. She wasn't used to fancy. She'd likely only travelled commercial. Sometimes I forgot how young she was.

One of the pilots met us. Boarding was a simple matter, and soon Sookie and I were seated either side of the narrow aisle, in plush leather seats. The pilot joined his colleague in the cockpit, shutting the door firmly, and we were alone. Finally.

Sookie's dress was giving me ideas I couldn't act on, sadly. Shrugging out of my jacket, I tossed it onto an empty chair and stretched in a way that usually drew admiring looks. Sookie turned away sharply, towards the tiny oval window beside her. I leaned back and began to relax.

Sookie did not. She was sitting stiffly upright, and her heartbeat was raised.

Much as I would like to believe I was the cause of that, I realised something else was bothering her. I asked quietly, "Did you hear something alarming from the pilot?"

She shook her head and whispered, "No. Everything's fine."

It was not. She was sweating slightly, and her scent was souring with the tang of adrenaline. The engines revved, and her hands clenched on the arms of her chair. Ah. What I'd taken for an awe of luxury was fear. This was probably the smallest plane she'd been in.

What she needed was a distraction. When I got to my feet she hissed, "Eric, you shouldn't be walking around."

"Vampire reflexes, remember." I searched the storage lockers and soon found what I needed – the plane was well equipped. Sookie eyed the pad of paper in my hand curiously as I sat back down. "Let's make the most of the flight," I said, opening it and resting it on my knee, pencil at the ready. "The vampire Joseph met with. Describe him."

"Oh." She shook off her surprise. "He was boyish-looking. Round in the face."

I began sketching, holding the pad so she couldn't see it. She strained forward and didn't reacted when the plane began to taxi, the hangar sliding slowly backwards past the windows. "No peeking," I said firmly. "It will muddy your memory. What else?"

"His chin, it had… No, not a cleft. Just a dimple."

We went on that way and I kept the pencil moving slowly over the page, deliberately teasing the process out so I could enjoy the way she bit her lip when she closed her eyes to fish her memory for details, and the way her eyes darted to my bare arms when they were open. When it was about to become obvious I was killing time, I turned the sketch round and admired the certainty with which she corrected it, telling me this detail or that was wrong.

A few adjustments and I showed her it again. "There. A match?"

"Yep, that's our guy." She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped herself and looked away again. "Oh. Is that Houston down there?"

I leaned over as if to peer out, and discretely sampled her scent. No trace of fear, much sweeter. I settled back in my chair, satisfied. "Lake Charles. Halfway."

"Already? Gosh, time flies." She stared at the sketch on my lap. Not raising her eyes she asked softly, "When did you learn to do that?"

I kept my voice low to match hers. "Before the camera came along. It was the only way to make a likeness."

"Right. I forget sometimes," she said under her breath, and shook her head. The action broke her contemplative mood, and she sat straighter, a frown pinching her eyebrows together. "We could've done this back in Houston. You didn't need to drag me all the way to Baton Rouge."

Her tone was on the edge of accusing. "Your memory is better than a sketch," I said smoothly.

Her eyes narrowed. "It's Digger's memory. I got it second-hand."

"That makes this" — I tapped the drawing — "third-hand. You will be more reliable."

"So why bother to—" She cut herself off, and her face softened. "Oh. You were distracting me."

"I do not like to smell your fear."

She looked down at her feet, and sighed softly. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

"It was nothing." I closed the pad and tossed it on top of my jacket.

Her shoulders lifted again with a bigger sigh, one she let out slowly as if that meant I wouldn't notice it. She put her shoulders back and lifted her head.

"What you did for me when you left … the protection, the guards. I never thanked you." Blue eyes locked on mine, clear and light, the colour of waves under a sun I had almost forgotten. "So I'm doing it now. Thank you, Eric. For everything."

She had spoken those words once before, as we parted on her front porch. I hadn't understood what she meant then. "You already thanked me."

"What? When?" she stuttered.

"The night I found you in Blue."

"Oh." A shutter came down between us and I wished I'd held my tongue. She said briskly, "Well, I needed to say it sober. I appreciate the end result, Eric, whatever your motives were. Seein' as I like bein' alive, and all." She gave me a sharp look. "But I didn't ask you to do it, and I don't owe you for it."

I stiffened. "Did I ask for payment?"

"No," she conceded and then spoilt it by adding grimly, "not yet."

Infuriating woman. I wanted to shake her, but I restricted myself to an icy: "I will not."

"Good. I just want to be clear on that. Because Lord knows, y'all never forget a favour owed."

She was reducing our history to trading favours. My reply was clipped with irritation. "Nor do we forget those we owe favours to, Sookie."

Her eyes widened briefly, and then she nodded in a firm way that told me I'd made yet another error. "I saved your butt enough times, so of course you'd feel obliged to… What about telling Niall I was in Memphis? Do I owe you for that?"

That fucking ring pulsed with heat and I gritted my teeth. Losing my temper in a metal tube thousands of feet in the air was not advisable. I tamped my annoyance down and managed to answer evenly. "No. That one is on the house."

"For real?" She looked sceptical. "Why? Were you watching over me for Niall again? I wouldn't put that past the old goat."

I cracked an almost painful smile. At least she distrusted the 'old goat' as much as she did me. "For real. I had no deal with Niall. "

"So we're even."

"Yes. Even." Once I was calm I said, "You understand how the supernatural world operates better than you did. This is good."

She shrugged and fell silent. After a minute she asked, "Is there anything to drink on this thing?"

I got up to look. "Water, soda, or iced tea."

"Iced tea, please."

I brought it to her, complete with ice and a napkin. After she took a few mouthfuls she noticed I was watching her. "Not joining me?"

"No blood." I deepened my voice and wiggled my eyebrows. "Unless you're offering."

She laughed, and just like that the tension vanished. "Definitely not, Eric."

Time to talk about the summit. I doubted she would admit running to save me like an avenging Valkyrie, but perhaps I could work up to it. I stretched my legs out and linked my hands behind my head. "You handled the Pythoness well in Louisville. Your telepathy is much improved."

She hesitated and shrugged. "Practise makes perfect, I guess."

"Neb was impressed with the way you read Finch too," I said, testing the waters and watching her closely from the corner of my eye.

She shifted before she replied, "Just doing my job."

"One you are good at. But you went beyond what you were hired for." She stiffened. No, now was not the time mention her frantic dash to protect me. I added smoothly, "I am grateful you did."

"You're welcome," she said automatically.

Searching for another compliment, I remembered what she said to the Were girl. "You are earning quite reputation for efficiency. That will carve you a place in our world."

"Well," she drawled, "someone said I should make my life my own." She dropped the playful tone. "And you, buster, were eavesdropping on me and Brandy."

"Perhaps," I admitted, realising I had inadvertently given myself away by echoing her phrasing. She was too sharp to miss that.

"Never let an opportunity pass you by, huh?" Her eyes were still amused, although her tone was dry. "Speaking of opportunities, I wanted to ask you something. Joseph killed Scott Carter, right?"

"Probably. There was no proof, but I believe Stan compensated his widow."

"So Liz said." She wrinkled her nose. "Stan never struck me as the compassionate type. That part of a campaign to win the twoeys over?"

"Yes. Stan believes it is to our benefit."

"Uh-huh. So why did Joseph ask Scott to lay off the Chosen?"

"Ah." I weighed up how much to say. "Stan wanted order. Joseph was to negotiate a truce."

"What was Joseph really up to?" she asked astutely.

"That, as they say, is the million-dollar question."

"Stan doesn't know? Oh." She rolled her eyes. "Guess that's why Joseph got his severance papers."

"If you wish to call it that," I said, smirking. "His neck was certainly severed." The note of the engines changed. "Ah. We are coming in to land."

Sookie tensed and reached for her seatbelt, and I regretted her change in mood.

…

Marie greeted me with a bow; she was on door duty. "Good evening, your majesty."

"Marie," I replied, nodding.

Sookie looked around the lobby and raised her eyebrows. Again.

She'd done that when we got off the plane and found Goro waiting besides the Brick. When I'd asked if she had a problem with my second, she explained it was the limo that threw her. Not my style, she said. Ruefully, I admitted that practicality limited my choice of vehicle.

In more ways than one. I would have flown her to the house in my arms if there was no chance of being seen.

When Goro eyed my t-shirt and jeans and asked, "Slumming it tonight, dono?" Sookie's eyebrows had flicked up again. Goro winked at her as he held the limo door open. She gave him a gracious thank you nonetheless, missing the glare I gave him over her head.

Her eyebrows had risen again when the house came into view. Grinning, she asked if Russell minded me copycatting his style. Goro had laughed at that. I'd pointed out that a house with walled grounds had more to do with security than a shared taste for antebellum architecture.

This time Sookie was looking askance at the couches in the lobby.

"Pam," I said.

"That explains it. They're…"

"Ostentatious? Old-fashioned? Easily stained?" Those had been my objections.

"Too short for your giant legs," she said, laughing.

Smiling too, I gestured towards the stairs. "Shall we?"

Sanjay was alone in the outer office. He pressed his hands together and bowed deeply. "Your majesty."

When he reached for a stack of letters I warned, "Sanjay, this is a flying visit."

"There are only a dozen, highness."

He held them out. There was a note on top in Geraldine's handwriting. Payback for telling her to absent herself, no doubt. Geraldine understood more of what she witnessed here than she let on, and I hadn't wanted Sookie hearing anything … prejudicial from her mind.

Grimacing, I took the papers from Sanjay, flicking through them as I punched the code into my office door. Waving Sookie towards the couches, I said, "Make yourself comfortable while I deal with these."

"Sure." She took off her coat and slung it over the back of a chair, but when I signed the last letter she was still on her feet, examining the books on the bookcase.

Taking it as a good omen that she was at ease and curious about me, I sat back and appreciated the view. That dress reminded me of the night we met. White and red suited her. She wandered towards the couches, trailing a finger along the edge of a cabinet, those wayward eyebrows twitching when she came to the decanters of alcohol I kept for breathing visitors. She got to the shelves of ornaments that Emmett had insisted I put on display, and stopped by a silver bowl. "I remember this. It used to be in your lounge."

"Yes," I said.

"I like it," she said, as she came over to stand in front of my desk. She waved vaguely at the room. "All of this, I mean. It's modern. Clean, light. Very you."

"My designer will be thrilled."

"Designer?" Her grin was crooked. "Haven't you gone up in the world."

"Oh, yes." I tapped the pile of letters on the desk. "Red carpet treatment wherever I go."

"You poor baby," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. I reached for my laptop and she added, "It's very quiet. For a big house. You don't keep donors here?"

I glanced at her, but her face, like her tone, gave nothing away. "They do not stay past midnight," I answered truthfully.

"Oh. Like Cinderella, huh?" She smiled.

I did not. Talk of donors put me on edge.

Another blonde came uninvited into my mind: the donor who was a pale imitation of the woman before me. The donor who'd stripped off her Halloween costume in the exact spot where Sookie was standing. And I was sitting at the scene of that particular crime, the desk where we'd—

An urgent desire to be elsewhere had me uncoiling from the chair and on my feet in a split second. Fortunately, I had an excuse for the abrupt motion: I needed something from the safe. I strode across the room, halting in front of a small, innocuous painting hanging on the blank wall opposite the seating area. My back to Sookie, I slid the painting aside.

I heard her moving behind me and her voice was closer when it came again. "No twoeys around either? I can't hear any."

"They work the day." Some of the wolves slept here, but I had warned Jephson we were coming. It seemed prudent to have them gone too. I leaned in to present my eye to the scanner.

"Wow," she breathed. "Very James Bond."

Relieved by the change of topic, I flashed her a grin over my shoulder as the safe swung open. "It is, isn't it?"

"I'll say. What's with all the bells and whistles?"

I grabbed what I wanted and nudged the safe closed. Turning, I showed her the flash-drive in my palm and warned: "This is a secret. A dangerous one."

She looked doubtfully at the tiny thing, but nodded firmly enough that I trusted she understood the importance of keeping quiet. "Secret. Gotcha."

Taking my laptop off the desk I had no intention of sitting at, I gestured to the couches. "Let's do this in comfort."

To prove to myself I still had fangs, I deliberately sat on the one I used to drink from Emmett. Guilt over feeding had no place in any vampire's heart. Removing my jacket, I patted the seat beside me. Sookie joined me, leaving a clear space between us.

She was close enough. For now.

I dropped fang, pierced a fingertip and let a single drop of blood fall onto the flash-drive. If anyone used it without my blood, its contents would appear scrambled and meaningless.

Sookie murmured, "Now there's something you don't see James Bond do."

"Oh, I expect Q will catch up with Poppy," I said, snapping my fangs up and the drive open. "Eventually."

"Poppy?" she asked as I plugged the drive into the laptop. "Is that a person or a cat?"

"Pam's witch."

"The one who likes jewellery." Her lips pursed as my fingers blurred over the keyboard. "Your man Jephson had one of those damn necklaces at the summit."

I refrained from smiling at her irritation and said mildly, "He is entitled to some privacy."

"I rather thought it was your privacy he was protecting," she said archly.

"That too." The program opened, and she leaned closer to see it. Her scent surrounded me and her heat radiated against my bare arm. I basked in the simple sensations as I typed in search terms. "This may take a few minutes. The search is glitchy."

She frowned. "It does look a little clunky. Is it some special royal edition?"

"No. Bill's, ah, personal directory." She stared at me, waiting for an explanation. Fuck. I could see where this was going. Discussing Bill was not what I had in mind now we were alone, but I relented. Give a little, gain a little. "Some vampires did not wish to be included in the public version. They offered to pay. Bill built something of a business around that."

"Enterprising of him," she said dryly. "You sound admiring."

"I am. It was enterprising. But risky."

"Fortune favours the bold, I guess." She mused, "That explains all those improvements to his house. Bet he charges premium for a copy."

"There are no copies." I braced myself for the inevitable moment when she worked it out. It didn't take long.

"But you have—" She narrowed her eyes and asked accusingly: "How did you get this?"

My jaw tightened. "I am his king."

"You stole it," she said, disgusted. "And Bill can't do a thing about it."

"I did him a favour," I said sharply. "When I said risky I meant it, Sookie. This" — I gestured at the list that was gradually filling the screen — "is a gallery of rogues, assassins and thugs. Sooner or later one of them would have discovered its existence and taken it from him."

"Over his finally dead body."

"Yes."

"So you took it first." She sighed. "If it's so dangerous, how did you even know about it? No way Bill would've told you."

"Karin."

"Oh." She pulled a face and stared into space for a moment. Then she cursed under her breath and nodded at the laptop. "If any of them find out you've got this, they'll blame Bill for selling them out. And by blame, I mean hunt him down and end him."

"Very good," I said. "You think like a vampire."

"That's not the compliment you think it is," she said darkly. "Did you even pay Bill for it?"

"We made a deal. I get this, he gets to survive."

"How generous," she said, snorting. "What if one of these fine, upstanding vampire citizens comes after him?"

"He swore fealty. I owe him protection if he asks it."

"What if he doesn't ask in time? Bon Temps is not exactly vamp central."

I shrugged. "He would be safer in Shreveport or New Orleans. He opted to stay put."

"I wonder why," she said sarcastically. I suspected we both knew the answer: Bill would rather not be under my scrutiny.

"I wonder too," I said lightly, leaning back against the couch. "I wonder why Bill is so attached to such a one-horse town."

We both knew that too: Sookie.

"One stop-light," she corrected. Her tone turned teasing. "Geez, Eric, get with this century. Even a backwater like Bon Temps has cars."

I smirked. "I wouldn't call that piece of scrap you used to drive a car."

"Oh, hush. It ran just fine." She nudged my arm with hers, and I held still as a bolt of lust out of all proportion to the slight contact flooded my blood. It left my fangs tingling when it ebbed.

Sookie, perhaps sensing something from my stillness, cleared her throat and gestured at the screen. "C'mon. Let's cherchez le vamp."

…

"Oh dear," she said, staring at the face on the screen. "Well, Gilbert Boucher isn't our guy."

"No," I said, smirking. "He isn't."

Boucher had a nose like a squashed turnip.

His photo may have been unflattering, but at least his entry had one. These vampires were, for obvious reasons, camera-shy. The few photos we'd come across appeared to be taken from security footage. Grainy black-and-white stills shot at awkward angles. As much use as a trapdoor in a canoe, as Sookie put it.

Boucher's was the eleventh entry we'd looked at, and Sookie had inched closer as we scoured the possible matches. Tilting her head to contemplate his nose, she inadvertently brushed her arm against mine. I shivered imperceptibly as a delightful frisson ran from her touch up to my shoulder.

"Shouldn't that be listed under distinguishing features?" she murmured.

"Maybe it is," I said, scrolling down to the relevant section and purposely letting my elbow rub against hers. Another thrill tingled its way up my arm. She didn't break the contact as I skimmed Bill's painstakingly coded description.

"Ah. The unfortunate Gilbert only has one arm. Bill thought that was more noteworthy." I scrolled back to the photo. "Hm. I find I do not agree."

"Me either," she squeaked, pressing her lips together to stifle a giggle.

It was good to hear her laugh. I was hard pressed to say which I enjoyed more: the casual touches or her giggles.

The next entry didn't have a photo. It had a sketch. Sookie squinted at it and groaned, the vibration echoing through me. "When I find out who in the hell told Bill he could draw," she drawled, "I'm gonna introduce them to the business end of a shotgun."

I kept my face straight with an effort. "Cameras were around when he turned. He has not had the need or the centuries to practise that I have."

"Please," she said indignantly, waving at the screen. "If the police used Picasso here as an artist they'd never arrest anyone."

"He's not that bad. He has _some_ artistic talent," I said, starting to laugh.

"What for — making copies?" She slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Of course. That's it," I got out between chuckles. "He's the next Andy Warhol."

Sookie batted at my arm with her free hand and bent over, her shoulders shaking with muffled laughter and her hair tumbling around her face. My fingers itched to brush it aside. Her thigh pressed against mine, and when I pressed back, again she didn't withdraw. I put the laptop to one side, my own laughter dying.

Mirth was a welcome distraction, but not enough of one. I let my fangs drop.

Sookie's laughter subsided and she sat up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. Snake fast, I shot out a hand and caught her wrist, pulling it out of the way. I wanted to see her eyes. She gasped as I swept her hair back with my other hand.

Her eyes were that translucent sea blue again, wide and still shining with laughter as they locked on mine. My fingers lingered over her ear, then slid cautiously down her neck and under the softness of her hair, to curl around her nape. The heat of her soaked into my hand and I tugged her gently but insistently forwards. I leaned in, the pulse in her trapped wrist pounding against my fingertips. My lips parted, almost touching hers, and I tasted her breath on my tongue.

A hand pressed hard against my chest.

"No."

I froze, stunned, the quiet word more piercing than any stake.

In disbelief, I pulled back, her hair slipping through my fingers as my hand fell away from her neck. I let go of her wrist when she tugged at my grip. As soon as she was free, she scrambled to her feet and stood there poised to bolt, both hands clenched.

It was an effort to lean back against the couch, to relax the hands that ached to snatch her back, to wait for her to speak. The storm in her eyes calmed and became determination. She took a deep breath.

"Look Eric, I'm not here to fool around."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up her hand.

"I know we were laughing and all." Her eyes darted to the couch and back to me. "I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea, but it's not happening. Not while I'm with someone else."

Disbelief became confusion. I had kissed her several times when she was with another, and not once had she stopped me before our lips even met. As neutrally as only a vampire could I said, "That has never stopped you kissing me before."

"No kissing. No anything." she said firmly.

A voice too like Ocella's whispered: _You think it was just you? She kissed the shifter while you were together. You are just one of many. The tiger is the exception.  
_

"Why now? Is what you have with Quinn that different?" That was less neutral, and I may have sneered.

"No," she said firmly. "I'm different."

"Explain."

Her smile was crooked. "I grew up, Eric. Plain and simple."

She ran a hand through her hair and sat down, leaving an arm's length between us. I wanted to growl at the distance. My fortunes with this woman reversed more quickly than the tide of battle. Advance two steps, retreat three.

"Getting married, making those vows before God," she continued slowly, "it taught me to think about commitment. Really think, get my priorities straight. I went three years without kissing anyone but Sam. I'm proud of that."

"You want that commitment again." With Quinn. The throb of heat from the signet ring warned me to leave his name unsaid if I wanted to keep any dignity. It would come out as a growl.

"Yes. That … loyalty. You value loyalty, don't you?" I nodded, stiff and unwilling. She looked at me soberly. "You value that about _me. _So do I. If I'm loyal, it can't just disappear when it's to your advantage, Eric."

I couldn't summon a rebuttal that made sense. "I … see."

She smiled wryly. "I don't think you do. I'm not the same girl I was, Eric. The way I behaved in the past around y'all was … immature. Too immature for a woman in her twenties." Her eyes became distant and she whispered, "I see that now."

"Now?" I asked, curiosity overriding sense.

The question made her hesitate. She looked down at her hands, swallowing before she answered. "Brandy. Losing her father tore her up. She has a hole inside her, and a hunger to fill it, any which way she can. It'll drive her into the arms of the first man to pay her any mind. Then the next, and the next. Until she wakes up to what she's doing." She looked up. "I recognise that."

"Ah."

"You don't," she said shrewdly. "Guess you never had to step into your father's shoes."

Other boys in the village lost fathers, but I was spared that, and Ocella was never quite the father figure he wished to be. "No," I confirmed. "Only my brother's."

"Not the same," she said softly.

"It is not," I agreed, searching her face for a pain I had missed. Not the pain of Bill's crimes, not the pain Neave and Lochlan inflicted, those I had seen. One hidden deep, under her strength.

One corner of her mouth hitched up, and she said self-depreciatingly, "Better to know yourself, right?"

"Yes. Know the enemy but not yourself, and every battle ends in defeat," I said, paraphrasing the Art of War.

I reached out cautiously, and when she held still, I laid my hand over hers. In the silence, I ruthlessly buried the bitter taste of rejection and all the questions forming about what she had revealed. I would examine that later. When I was alone.

Finally, Sookie cleared her throat and patted my hand. I withdrew. "We're … good?"

I nodded.

She indicated the discarded laptop. "So… We should finish up. Many more?"

Hating her hesitation, I retrieved it and examined the list. "Another dozen. I'll narrow it down."

That way I could avoid the lingering awkwardness.

Sookie waited silently while I flicked through the entries at vampire speed. I stopped at the seventh, a free-lance assassin and thief. No photo, or even a sketch, but the height, build, hair, and eye colour all fitted. And he was described as 'baby-faced'. I went through the last five to be sure, but he was the best match. Unfortunately, the entry gave no age, country of origin, or full name. All Bill had was an alias, Lance, and last known location, California.

A cautious vampire, then. That fit. Our brown-eyed friend from Jackson had been careful to cover his tracks. And California… I smelt a caped rat at the heart of this conspiracy.

Leaving de Castro out of it, I explained what I'd found.

"Great," Sookie said, sighing. "We can't be sure it's the same guy without a photo. Where do we go from here?"

I went to the jacket I'd left by the desk and retrieved the sketch I'd made on the plane. "Time to phone a friend."

…

"Miss Stackhouse. What a pleasure to see you at Eric's side."

The first words out of Bartlett's mouth when he appeared on the screen caught Sookie off-guard and she stammered, blushing. A brief conversation and one fax later, and Bartlett was sending my sketch westwards, to his contacts in Narayana. Tezcatlipoca included, given Bartlett had some connection with the king of New Mexico. With technology and time zones on our side, he hoped to have a positive identification by tomorrow night.

"I'll keep Stan and Russell in the loop," Bartlett said as we ended the call, "as you'll be tied up travelling back to Houston." From the glance he gave Sookie, he was imagining a far more convivial flight than I was.

Sookie managed a few strained smiles in the limo, but she hardly spoke. By the time we got on the plane, she was yawning repeatedly. She asked for water and a blanket, and fell asleep not long after take-off. I turned the lights down. Her scent filled the cabin, and listening to her soft breathing was both comforting and bittersweet. I alternated between staring at her and the ceiling, thinking. My phone rang, inside the jacket I hadn't bothered to take off. It was Pam.

If she had told me Sookie was calling my name in that bar a year ago, I would have beaten the tiger to the punch and—

I hissed in annoyance when the signet ring pulsed with heat. Sookie stirred in her sleep. Fuck. The last thing I needed was her waking up and asking why I still had my cell on me. The way my luck was going, she would work out I'd bullshitted her over that just so she would carry the phone I gave her and leave the one Quinn knew about behind.

She might do worse than nail me inside a coffin if she worked that out.

I answered the phone tersely. "What news on the crime scene photos?"

"Fuck all," Pam said immediately. "Heidi drew a blank, but that means nothing as our pastor was knocking at heaven's door begging to be let in three months ago. Anyone with a half a brain could have got those photos any time since then, and their scent would be long gone."

"Maxwell?"

"The opposite problem. At least a dozen of Shreveport's finest wouldn't piss on our furry friends if they were on fire. Any of one of them could have leaked those photos for the price of a doughnut."

I cursed softly.

"Quite. Maxwell is pissed I forbade him from messing with them. He wanted to glamour them to guzzle laxatives, but it's fortunate he didn't. The FBI have turned up. They're asking the local cops a lot of astute questions."

"They were bound to get involved as soon as the murders were linked. How is the press coverage?"

"Indira has it covered." She chuckled. "She made an ally of Alcide's wife, and between the two of them they persuaded him to give a TV interview."

"That is amusing?"

"Yes. He hates wearing a suit. Check your email, I sent you a copy. I'll keep you informed." She hung up.

As I slipped my phone away I looked over at Sookie. The signet ring began to warm steadily. Fuck. It wasn't Pam I was furious with. I could have approached Sookie a year ago. Why had I been so determined to walk away from her?

I was a fucking idiot, and now it was too late. She would marry the tiger. Have his cubs.

The ring glowed dull red, searing my finger. With a growl, I pulled it off and tossed it into Sookie's glass of water, which began to steam. Something fell over with a thud and the plane juddered violently, the fixtures rattling. The smell of burnt flesh hit me as an alarm went off in the cockpit.

Shit. I snatched up the glass, fished the ring out, and rammed it back on as the pilot announced a patch of turbulence. As the rattling died away, Sookie stirred and rubbed her eyes.

"What's going on?" she mumbled. "Why do I smell barbecue?"

I hushed her, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes drifted closed, and I looked around. Everything was quiet except the pilots, who were puzzling over what had happened.

I spent the rest of the flight keeping ruthlessly calm by playing mindless games on my cell.

…

Sookie fished a key-card out of her coat and unlocked her door. She stood awkwardly in front of it, pale and tired and hunting for something to say.

I spared her the effort. "Goodnight, Sookie."

"Night, Eric," she said quietly and slipped inside.

A short time later, Thalia arrived at my room. I raised an eyebrow at her ruddy face and she shrugged. Apparently, Stan had tasty donors. She reported that Daisy had struck out at the bar, and she and her brother had turned in hours ago. Thalia had done some investigating of her own since then, but she came back empty-handed. No leads on Hector's whereabouts.

After she left, I checked email to kill time, including the drop-box Yasmin used. One sentence stood out amongst the chatter: _Next door's tomcat is spraying the garden again, and uncle is planning revenge._

Bardulf was after Quinn.

To warn Sookie, or not? That was the question. Unless Quinn had been a very stupid kitty, I was sure Bardulf was removing him to get to her. So I should warn her. Fuck. I rubbed my face. I really did not want to be responsible for saving the tiger's neck, but it looked like I might have to. Even the Pythoness thought he deserved whatever he had coming.

The Pythoness, her words… _Don't fight the ___tide___. A wise man ___waits___ for it to ___turn.__

Fuck. I _was_ an idiot. The tide turning against Quinn was too enticing. I had focused on that and missed the warning meant for me.

A wise man _waits_. He _waits_.

I had seen that video of Sookie and, like a fool, I had rushed in.

* * *

...

**A/N:** So... Yeah. That happened. Throw as many tomatoes as you want!

Ages ago, a reviewer said how much they didn't like Sookie letting everybody kiss her in the books. I almost spoilt this chapter by telling them how much I agreed, and that I had this planned. So, whoever it was, hope you like Sookie being less passive and more committed to the relationship she's in - even if it is with Quinn.


	42. T-R-O-U-B-L-E

First, don't forget to check out the entries in the Day of the Dead competition over on **Area5BloodyPen**. Voting is open until the 29th October.

Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites. Today's chapter is shorter, but punchier. Enjoy...

* * *

**T-R-O-U-B-L-E**

* * *

Steam scented with herbal shampoo filled the shower. I waited for the fingers of hot water to perform a miracle and wash away my exhaustion. Or my memory of last night. I would take either.

Needless to say, I waited in vain. I reckoned a second miracle was too tall an order for the universe. It had been nothing short of a damn miracle that I'd managed to resist Eric, master of seduction that he was. How in the heck I'd—

Right. Iowa.

The queen Eric was all-but betrothed to had popped into my head to provide a much needed mental bucket of ice-water, coming as it did while I was both frozen in shock and about to combust with lust. It was a timely reminder that I had no future with Eric, but I had one with Quinn that I'd be a fool to throw away. I meant every word I'd said to Eric last night, too. I was in the driver's seat, in control. Eric could only ever be a fling, and that wasn't what I wanted for myself.

Things had been decidedly awkward after that, although I'd fallen asleep on the plane easily enough. I guess because Eric sucked it up like a champ. Can't have been easy. I doubted the full Eric Northman treatment met with refusal more than once a century.

Trouble was, I _liked_ Eric. Liked hanging out with him, liked laughing with him. And damn him if he hadn't flirted so subtly I'd lulled myself into pretending it wasn't happening. My body sure realised what was going on though. It was enough to make a girl forget her own name when he leaned in to kiss me, hand on my neck and those pretty blue eyes boring into mine, his lips parted—

I shivered under the hot water.

Thinking about Eric whilst I was naked and wet was asking for trouble. Sighing, I shut off the shower and grabbed a towel. Drying myself slowly, I forced my thoughts to what I'd learnt yesterday. Murder was a much safer topic.

If there was a connection between Scott and Gary's deaths, I wasn't seeing it. And something else didn't add up: Joseph, who supposedly wanted to do twoeys real harm, hadn't turn Scott over to the police. Why kill him? A warning to the others?

The Fellowship getting a-hold of Gary, however, fitted Joseph's alleged anti-twoey agenda to a T. My blood boiled briefly when I thought of that apple-pie spokeswoman scaring her own children to whip up some hatred. That had definitely furthered Joseph's plans. Nothing had set the twoey cause back more than Gary's 'attack'.

Well, not until Hector's killing spree went public.

And a second vamp, this Lance, was stirring that mud.

Grabbing the hair-dryer, I realised what was bugging me about Lance. Eric had retreated behind a mask of cool indifference after I'd rebuffed him, so I couldn't be sure, but my bullshit detector said he'd been economical with the truth there. What was he hiding?

I ran the dryer slowly over my hair. Eric might be a trailblazing real co-operation with the twoeys in Louisiana, but his information-sharing with Daisy left a lot to be desired. Stan's fatal difference of opinion with Joseph, for instance. Eric had been careful not to spell that out in front of the others, even if he was less cagey with me later.

From what I'd seen, Eric's motto was still vampires first. So if he was keeping something back, it was a vampire thing.

Lance and Joseph. Did it go deeper? Some grand vamp conspiracy, some anti-twoey faction? Perhaps. Eric sure had motives for playing that close to his chest with Daisy. Last thing anyone needed was an all-out conflict between vamps and twoeys, and she'd already proved herself a firebrand.

Then there was that third man, the one who met with Joseph and Lance. Human, Digger thought, but wasn't sure. In Digger's memory he wore an anonymous black trench-coat, and his face was obscured in a smoky corner, deep in shadow. He seemed familiar, and something about him suggested a uniform. A security guard? Maybe I'd seen him at the summit? I'd screened so many staff in Louisville I doubted I could recall them all.

Nope, I couldn't place him.

Sighing, I left the bathroom and went to the closet, sparing a glare for my cell phone. It had woken me an hour ago, after far too little sleep. Adding insult to injury, by the time I'd dragged myself from the depths to answer it, Quinn had hung up. A lucky escape for him, I'd been in no mood to be charitable.

Really, it was my fault he was calling so early. I'd meant to ring him when I got back at the butt-crack of dawn, but I'd been so tired I went straight to bed.

Picking out jeans and a smart blouse, I dressed and then rang him. Straight to voicemail. Damn. He must be in a meeting, we'd be playing phone tag all day. I squashed a faint worry about Bardulf, waited for the tone, and made sure my voice was perky.

"Hey honey. Sorry I missed you earlier, I was sleeping. Everything's fine and dandy. Making progress, should be back soon. Hope things are good with you. Call you later."

Ugh. I hated doing that.

Someone rapped loudly on the door, and as I went to open it I recognised the snarly red mind. Digger. What was he doing here?

…

I wasn't the only one who'd had an interesting night.

Digger filled me in over in Daisy's room, and Daisy was riled. Not that you'd notice if you hadn't spent some time round her. She wasn't pacing or yelling; that wasn't her way. Instead, her hand kept going to that necklace of hers and clenching round it. I didn't need telepathy to read that.

Digger had gotten a tip-off from a trucker, a were-lynx. A friend of a friend of someone in another pack, that kinda deal. Now and again, this lynx made an interstate run from El Paso all the way to New Orleans and back. Didn't always stop in Houston, but he'd called in last night, and as Digger had put the feelers out, word had gotten round and caught up with him.

This lynx had seen Hector last summer, around the time Hector had disappeared from New Mexico. At a truck-stop out west, clear on the other side of San Antonio. That didn't sound too promising, but Digger had followed it up and spoken with him. The lynx could pin down the date as late July. It couldn't have been before then: he'd just gotten over a back injury that kept him on shorter runs for a couple months.

Now, we didn't know the exacted date Hector had off-ed that Chosen guy in Little Rock, but he'd left New Mexico well before that, on the sixth.

"He was on his way back to New Mexico," Daisy said, certain.

On his way back to her, she meant. I could see the hope in her eyes and I didn't want to rain on her parade, but I wasn't so sure. "Wouldn't he come back through Oklahoma? It's an awful long way to come down here."

"No," she insisted. "He'd come this way. Cover his tracks. Something must have changed his mind." She shook her head, that hope in her eyes fading. Her expression turned steely. "Whatever happened, it's worth checking out."

"Yeah, reckon so," Pete said. I could read his concern for her as he added, "Even if he stayed in Texas. Lot of places he could hide out along that interstate."

"Someone at the truck stop might have seen something," Digger said, nodding. "That's the place to start."

"Yes," Daisy agreed and looked at me. "You with us, mind-reader?"

We shared a woman-to-woman look. She was desperate to find Hector, the man she still loved if I was any judge of it, and she needed my help but she wouldn't beg. Not in words. Her eyes spoke for her.

I weighed up what she was asking, and nodded, my eyes making a promise: I'll help you find him. "Count me in."

"Good." She turned to Digger. "You bring your truck, like I asked?"

"It's downstairs."

Oh-oh. Something was up. "Why aren't we taking the hire car?" I asked.

"Don't want no vamps following us," Pete said gruffly. "Probably kill Hector on sight."

I doubted that, but their minds were made and whilst I had reason to trust Eric, they didn't. Arguing would only make them mistrust me, and I couldn't go back on the promise I'd just made. That just wasn't in my nature.

"'Course, we might have to kill Hector ourselves," Digger said, looking steadily at Daisy who nodded grimly. "But we'll hear him out first. I owe him that much. Liz is family, and he's more than avenged Scott's death." He eyed me. "Jack's waiting in my truck. You gonna have a problem with him tagging along?"

"I guess not," I said. From what I read from Pete just then, they'd arranged all this late last night, after they'd ditched Thalia. Looked like Eric wasn't the only one not sharing information. "Why Jack?"

He shrugged. "Hector was his friend."

"It's a long drive," Daisy said, picking up her coat. "We need to go."

"Let me grab a few things." I grumbled under my breath, "And we'd better be stopping for coffee."

Back in my room, I picked up my purse and paused. If we found Hector and his friends, they might not be so pleased to see us. Sure, Digger and Jack were tagging along, but this wasn't like going to Liz's house. The truck stop was hours away. However much Pete distrusted them, Eric and Thalia were more than useful in a fight, and if there was one thing the supe world had taught me, it was that it was always better to have more folks than the other side. I tapped the purse against my thigh thoughtfully.

Wait…

The phone Eric gave me. Daisy hadn't said anything about leaving it behind. If everybody else was keeping secrets, I could do the same.

Besides, it was just plain rude to leave without a word.

…

South Texas was a desolate place, from the little I saw of it. Digger's truck had a double cab, and I spent a fair bit of the six hour journey dozing on the back seat.

The truck stop was in the back of beyond. Just a gas station and a diner, trucks and semis parked at one end of the dusty lot, cars and pickups huddled at the other. Not a tree in sight, scrub stretching all round as far as I could see. Nothing like sweet home Louisiana. I missed the green.

Armed with a picture of Hector, Digger and Jack took the gas station and we hit the diner, spinning a story about a missing brother. The waitresses were sympathetic, but none of them remembered Hector. Digger and Jack came up empty too — the guy manning the gas station was new. Both establishments only kept their security tapes for six months, so we were fresh out of luck there. But the waitresses didn't mind us hanging around, as long as we were buying their cheap nasty coffee. We stuck it out for the dinner rush, but it was a bust.

"Waste of time," Jack muttered as we went outside, voicing the weariness and despondency we all felt.

"We're not done yet," Daisy said. "Few more folk we can ask over there."

She nodded across the lot, at the semis. The sun had set, and some of the cabs were lit. A coyote yipped and howled in the distance, and I pulled my coat tighter. It was a clear night, and the air was biting.

Digger and Jack went to the far end of the parked trucks. We started with the nearest. Pete said I should be the one to knock on the cabs, seeing as I was prettiest.

It was dark in the gaps between the trucks, the rigs blocking out the floodlighting. I climbed down from the third cab, shaking my head to tell Daisy the driver didn't know a thing. Except how to behave: he'd been real polite and hadn't thought about my chest once. Not like the previous guy, whose thoughts had made me want to shower.

In the faint glow from the cab above us I could make out Daisy grimace as she turned away. Pete, leaning against the truck side and scuffing up dust with the toe of his boot, looked up and scowled as she passed him, his mind full of worry for her. I opened my mouth to say something encouraging.

_Sookie! … here! Look out!  
_

I whipped round. Coloured with anger and fear, the mental shout had come from clear across the lot. I'd only caught it because it was directed right at me and my shields were still wide open from listening to the trucker.

"Something's wrong," I hissed, grabbing Pete's shoulder. We caught up to Daisy, waiting by the tailgate.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Digger," I said shortly, staring across the lot, mind stretching forward, hunting for him and Jack. The call hadn't come from where Digger and Jack were supposed to be, and it had been too brief to get a good fix.

Someone was coming along the line of trucks, but I ignored that beyond noting they were human and wishing for a stiff drink and a quiet meal. Pete and Daisy stiffened as the guy, an overweight trucker with a lit cigarette in his hand, walked up. He slowed as he passed us and turned to ask, "Y'all with some dudes asking 'bout a Hector?"

We looked at each other as he took a drag of his cigarette. "Yeah," Pete admitted. "What about them?"

"Couple undercover ATF agents real interested in 'em."

"ATF?" Pete asked. "What for?"

"Said something 'bout tobacco." He dropped his butt-end and crushed it contemptuously into the ground, imagining every ATF man who'd delayed him at a checkpoint for no good reason. He gave us a level look. "Y'all smuggling cigarettes, best skedaddle."

Pete frowned after him as he walked away. Daisy asked quietly, "He telling the truth, Sookie?"

"Yeah," I said. "Two guys with badges. Said they found something in Digger's truck, and threatened to tie that guy up in red tape if he stuck his nose in."

Pete swore softly, and set off towards the back of the lot where Digger had parked, well away from other vehicles. Shoot. The floodlights were out over that whole area. I had a bad feeling about this.

Daisy followed her brother. I looked longingly at the gas station and the diner, all lit up like Christmas, and trailed after them.

Halfway across the lot, my Sookie-senses were tingling real good. I slowed, willing my eyes to adapt faster to the dark. Daisy stopped, waving impatiently for me to catch up. When I reached her she asked urgently, "Is Digger talking his way out of it?"

"Dunno. Can't hear him."

Pete was loping ahead. As she called him back, I stretched my telepathy out again, searching more carefully. Shit. No wonder it had been so hard to latch on to his mind. "Digger's out cold."

I widened my search, hunting for Jack. "I can't —"

Minds came into range then. Red tangled minds, rushing at us from two sides.

Weres. Three big bad wolves. We hadn't found them, they'd found us.

Pete heard them coming, because he skidded to a halt, whirling round even as I yelled out. Too late: a figure flew out of the night and tackled him, both of them thudding to the ground. The hulking attacker slapped something against Pete's neck with a flat-handed motion I recognised.

I didn't have time to place it. Two more Weres loomed out of the darkness, one homing in on me like a nightmare.

Forewarned, I used reactions I'd forgotten I had and shot sideways. A hand caught at my coat, and my sneakers skidded on lose grit as I twisted, wrenching free. The owner of the hand snarled in frustration behind me. Daisy barked out some guttural words, tore at her neck, and flung a handful of stones, now glowing orange, at her opponent.

Trapped between my attacker and Daisy, I spun to face him. Something sizzled, and a male voice cursed loudly as I dodged another grab. My Were was wiry, but determined. I kept my eyes on him as acrid fumes hit the back of my throat and Daisy, off to the left now, taunted someone.

Wiry circled me, his mouth pulled back in a taut, teeth-baring smile. Easy to mistake him for Jack at a distance: same dark hair, but wider set eyes and flatter features. I kept beyond his reach, balanced on the balls of my feet, edging towards open space and ready to bolt.

A cry of pain rang out, and my head turned instinctively towards it.

In a flash I took in: Daisy's opponent reeling back, stumbling and clutching at his thigh; the hulk coming up behind Daisy, unseen; and Pete, on the ground, not moving.

"Behind you!" I yelled out. If Daisy got the warning in time I didn't know, because Wiry chose that moment to launch himself at me.

Grappling for my arms, he bowled me clean over. My hip and shoulder slammed hard into the ground. Paying no mind to the bursts of pain, I bucked and kicked wildly, clawing at his eyes when I got an arm free.

Were-strong, he barely raised a sweat pinning me down, his weight sitting solidly on my thighs and vice-like hands squeezing my wrists. He snarled down at me, mouth in a rictus grin, and I spat at him, taking some satisfaction from the raised welts I could just make out on his cheek, already beading with blood turned black by the lack of light.

He let go of my left wrist and, too fast for me to block it, a vicious slap set my cheek aflame and snapped my head to the side. Dazed, I saw Daisy, backing away from the other two Weres, flicking her hand in the same stiff-fingered gesture she'd use to call up smoke in Pete's bar.

A swirling dust cloud blew up out of nowhere, whipping at my face. Wiry hunched over, cussing. With both his hands on my wrists again, he couldn't shield his eyes. I screwed mine shut, prayed he was distracted enough, and jerked my wrists sharply.

No good. His grip stayed firm.

Out of ideas and outmatched, I hoped Daisy had some more tricks up her sleeve. The dust concealed her, but not the shouts and grunts and thuds I could hear. Still struggling fitfully with my captor, I homed in on the fight with my mind. The hulk was keeping Daisy busy while the guy she'd char-grilled was…

He was chanting! Oh no. He was like Hallow, Were and witch.

The dust settled abruptly.

Daisy was on the ground. They'd taken us down in less time than it takes to scramble eggs.

The grip on my wrists was beginning to hurt. I cursed bitterly at the ache, and at myself. Why did I let myself get dragged into these things? It wasn't like I could hold my own in the supe league. I couldn't overpower one Were in a straight fight, let alone three.

"Everything okay there?" called a voice. The fight had attracted attention.

With a rush of hope, I sucked in a breath to holler real loud. Wiry shifted his weight as fast as a whip and a bony knee landed in my gut like a pile-driver. A lungful of air whooshed out of my mouth carrying that hope off into the dark, with no yell attached.

"ATF business, sir," Char-grilled called back to the concerned citizen. "Stay back, please."

Gasping like a landed fish, I had no way to call out or resist when I was grabbed by the shoulders, rolled and planted unceremoniously face down in the dirt. My cheek, still on fire from the slap, scrapped against grit as that damn knee pressed hard into the small of my back. With quick movements that seemed oiled by practise, my arms were twisted and cold metal snapped round my wrists. A hand covered my mouth before I could make another attempt to yell. Eyes watering with pain, I reached out mentally.

Two men and a woman, human. They'd been too far away to see much of the fight. Char-grilled was with them, pulling a badge out of his coat and feeding them a line of bull that they were just eating up: "…undercover ATF operation … dangerous arrest … smuggling … tax dollars at work …"

ATF, my sweet ass. Spitting mad, I bit down hard. My teeth sank into leather, not the skin they sought.

"Uh-uh, sweetheart," Wiry said. "You don't want to do that."

His voice was soft, gentle even. It sent chills through me, chills colder than the ground that was steadily leeching heat from my thighs and stomach. Gloved fingers stroked at my wrist, and it was more than cold that held me frozen as images of torsos and blood and knives leaked from his mind into mine. I shuddered, recognising the darkness in him.

Rene Lenier. Serial killer.

His fingers stroked higher, up my forearm. In his mind, he conjured a knife, felt it slice into my skin, felt the greater resistance as it parted my muscles, felt the way it scraped against the bone. My stomach churned and I froze, a rabbit in a hawk's shadow, prey caught in the predator's gaze.

A pair of shoes filled my vision, and the scent of burning filled my nose.

"Chico," Char-grilled growled warningly. The hand left my arm. "Get her to the van. Now."

I didn't struggle.

Chico kept a painful grip on my arm and a hand over my mouth all the way. The others caught up with us as we reached the vehicle. Black, anonymous, tinted windows, back doors facing scrub where there were no witnesses except night critters. My mind thawing after its brush with Chico's, I memorised the plate.

For later.

Yes, _later_. I had to act like there would be a later, or I would freak out. Next, I checked out the other two Weres. With some relief, I found they were sane.

Char-grilled (I compiled a description for the cops who would interview me later: tall, thin, late thirties, short dark hair, moustache) had a gun pressed into Daisy's side, and was angry but focused. If he could sense my telepathy like Hallow and Daisy could, he showed no sign of it when I brushed tentatively against his mind. That could be distraction. He was limping heavily, and ugly red burns on his chest and thigh showed through his charred clothing. Daisy was cuffed and he'd taped her mouth at some point. Her eyes looked murderous.

The hulk (tall and wide, early thirties, buzzcut, probably blond but hard to tell, eyes like buttons and a thick neck) was completely calm, almost content. He had Pete slung over his shoulder, still limp.

Tranquiliser dart. That was what he'd slapped against Pete's neck, like the one that felled Sam.

They were all wearing gloves too. Well-equipped, co-ordinated, focused — they _were_ ex-military, or I'd eat my hat. Least we got that right.

"Harp, get the doors," Char-grilled ordered. He seemed to be the leader. The hulk, a.k.a. Harp, dropped Pete and opened the van. I could just make out Digger and Jack laid out inside.

There was a reason I hadn't sensed Jack's mind. He was dead.

Nancy was gonna be pissed.

I swallowed hysteria. It came back like bile as a hand wandered over my butt and that soft voice said, too close to my ear and far too eager, "Better search 'em, Grouch."

I had a flashback to being groped by those Weres in New Orleans, and shuddered with revulsion. And real fear: Eric's phone was in my coat. It was our only hope for rescue and a slim one at that. We were a long way from Houston.

Char-grilled, aka Grouch, said sharply, "Chico, put her with this bitch. Search the men first."

A shove sent me stumbling over to Daisy. Chico clambered inside the van and Harp heaved Pete up to him. Daisy flinched as Pete's head hit the floor with a crack. Yeah, that was gonna bruise.

"Don't do anything stupid, ladies," Grouch said, his gun swinging between us, steady and slow. He glared at Daisy and gestured at his leg with his free hand. "I've already got reason to be pissed."

He wouldn't hesitate, I got that from him.

Staring down a barrel might have been a vast improvement on Chico's company, but I'd have been a lot happier if I was the one holding the gun. I'd left the one Pam had given me back in Memphis. Too difficult to take on a plane.

Chico searched the bodies, unconscious and dead, with ruthless efficiency. Wallets and phones and pocketknives were tossed out of the darkness into a pile by the van doors. Harp flicked through the wallets, pocketing IDs and putting the rest in a canvas bag. Then he took a phone — Digger's, I thought — and removed the battery. _There. No-one can track it. _He dropped it into the bag too.

My heart sank. I had to distract them, make them miss the phone in my pocket somehow. No-one had thought to tape my mouth yet.

Picking the first thing that came to mind I said, "Harp, Chico and Grouch. Seriously?" Daisy elbowed me, but I was too desperate to stop, my voice cracking with more than disbelief. "Real bunch of comedians you are."

"Sure," Grouch said sarcastically. "Don't you recognise us? I'm the clever one, Harp here don't talk much, and Chico, he's the ladies man."

I swallowed. Yeah, Chico was a ladies man alright. The kind who left them dead.

Grouch narrowed his eyes at me, and then at Chico as he jumped down out of the van. _Best get him away from her. He has that look in his eyes tonight._ "Harp," he called, "you found the keys for their vehicle?"

Harp grunted a yes and held them up.

"Chico, you sweep it," Grouch ordered. "You know the drill. Gather IDs, disable any phones. Then drive it back to base."

They were definitely ex-military.

"Sure, boss." Chico treated Daisy and me to an eerie smile. "Ain't it real convenient, these fools driving right into our back yard. Saved us a lot of hassle." He gave us a mocking bow. "Mighty obliged, ladies."

Tucking that away for my future debrief with the cops, I was relieved to see him go. The relief was short-lived.

"You take the witch," Grouch said. "I'll search this one."

Daisy struggled, but Harp pulled her away effortlessly. Grouch pinned me against the van door, the metal cold on my bruised cheek. He pointed his gun at Daisy, as he considered her the greater threat. "Take that fucking necklace off her."

Harp didn't hesitate, snapping the frayed leather cord and removing what was left of it. Some of the stones were missing. I didn't understand how Daisy had taken them off, but then I also didn't understand how they'd burnt Grouch. I just wished that had been enough to win the fight.

As Harp dropped it into the bag, Grouch shoved the gun into my kidneys. Time was running out. Harp had thoughts as rare as his words, but Grouch was the strategist here, his mind seeing possibilities and jumping all over. Distracting him was my best shot.

"The Marx brothers?" I sneered desperately. "Whose stupid idea was that?"

"You're a mouthy one, aren't you?" he said cheerfully, fondly remembering the Colonel who'd named them. _Marksmen; Marx brothers. It just fitted._

Annoyingly he didn't think of their real names at all, and worse, he began to pat me down with his free hand.

"We know all about your killing spree," I said and got what I wanted. He stopped, hand hovering dangerously near my pocket.

"Yeah? That right?" Grouch sounded supremely bored, but he was alert and real eager to know what I knew.

"Yeah. Thought you'd take over from Tooth 'n Claw, right?" I rushed out, talking fast. "Slaughtering those preachers. What's next, women and children? You think you're fighting back, but you're not. You're making things worse for twoeys. You and Hector will—"

He chuckled cynically behind me. _Doesn't know anything._

I gasped at what I heard him think after that. They _were_ out to cause trouble for twoeys, deliberately so, and Hector had nothing to do with it because—

My eyes sought Daisy out, but Harp was already shoving her inside the van.

"Enough talk," Grouch said harshly, out of patience. His gun pressed into me, a cold stab of fear, and I watched helplessly as he found Eric's phone and took it out of my coat.

He tossed it to Harp, who broke it open and hurled the battery out into the scrub. My last hope broken too, the phone went into the bag with everything else.

_Can't let her see where we going._ Grouch reached into his pocket, and I could see what was coming, for all the good that did. Tape slapped over my mouth, and a needle jabbed into my neck.

Grouch took the bag to the front of the van, and Harp heaved me into the back. Landing awkwardly on my knees, I saw at once the van was swept clean. These guys were pros. No fast food wrappers, no tools lying conveniently on the floor. Harp secured my cuffs to a hook in the floor with a short and sturdy chain.

Daisy, chained opposite, stared at me. Her eyes, dark and apologetic, said: _Didn't mean to get you into this_.

I shrugged sluggishly at her, the sedative already working. The door slammed shut.

In the darkness, I wanted to curse and yell. But more than that, I wanted, desperately wanted my telepathy to work both ways so I could tell Daisy what I'd just heard about Hector.

…


	43. Unholy Alliance

Hi all. Thanks for the reviews. Here is this week's chapter, which, like my week, is busy, busy, busy! Enjoy.

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**Unholy Alliance**

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I came to lying on a firm surface, my hip and shoulder aching. Boy, was I pissed. Furious in fact and all before I even opened my eyes. I was seeing red twice I realised: once from anger and once from the rosy glow bleeding through my eyelids. That was all the warning I needed not to open them. It might alert Chico and his nasty friends. Oh, I was furious, but not furious enough to do that.

A chair scraped. I willed my heart beat steady, my breathing even.

"One of 'em waking up?" A deep voice I hadn't heard before. Harp?

"Can't be. Too soon." Grouch. The chair scraped again, and the sensation of being watched left me.

I lay still, ignoring the aches that demanded I move, and raged coldly at the mess I found myself in. A-fucking-gain. Excuse my language, but there are only so many times a girl can be kidnapped and retain some equanimity.

But, just as all those Word of The Day calendars from Arlene had enriched my vocabulary, my far too frequent experiences with kidnap had taught me not to waste a second or an advantage. And I had a whopper of one: the Weres didn't know I was a telepath.

Guess leaving my ID back at the hotel in case I had to play Pete's girl again had been one of my better ideas.

Focusing, I stretched my mind outwards. It was harder than usual, the sedative still messing with my concentration. The good news: Pete, whose mind showed no signs of stirring, was besides me. The others were further away and in the same state.

The bad news: Our new friends, Harp and Grouch, were only ten or so feet distant. I didn't dare risk a peek because I was facing them. Their stray thoughts and the quiet slapping sounds told me they were playing cards. I reached further and found Chico, far enough away that he had to be outside the room I was in.

Mentally moving that last bit of information to the good news column, I focused on the other two Weres. I didn't want to risk probing Grouch and tipping him off that I was awake, so I started with Harp. He wasn't paying much attention to the surroundings, so this was somewhere familiar to him. I pulled out of his head for a moment to see what I could learn the old-fashioned way.

Keeping my eyes closed, I used my other senses. The place had echo to it, but I wasn't a damn bat and I couldn't tell diddly-squat from that. The air was cooler than the floor, which seemed to be padded and plastic-covered from a cautious exploration with my hands, still cuffed behind my back and out of sight. Some sort of thin matting, then. I smelt oil and hot metal. A workshop of some kind? That wasn't much use to me right then, but there might be tools around to use as weapons if I got free.

Back to our two saner captors. Probably saner, I corrected myself. After what I'd heard before I was thrown in the van I had to wonder about that.

That was another wellspring feeding my anger: Grouch and his men were waging a deliberate campaign of violence designed to screw up any chance twoeys had of living peacefully with ordinary Americans. What for, I didn't know yet. I was mighty curious as to why three werewolves were selling out their own kind like that.

Well, these two anyway. Chico was nuts and I figured he'd go along with anything that kept him supplied with victims.

The more I found out about the other two, the more buttons I could push when they finally took the damn duct tape off my mouth.

So l played possum and listened with ears and mind.

Harp grunted.

Grouch laughed. "Pay up, you big lug."

I heard coins slide across a hard surface. I saw it was midnight, through Harp's eyes as he glanced at his watch.

The witching hour. Huh, fancy that. These guys had their own witch in Grouch. He must have 'salted' that house in Jackson so Daisy couldn't work her mojo there.

The pieces were fitting together.

We'd been taken around ten, I thought. Midnight meant the van ride had only taken an hour or two, tops. I tried to figure out when Eric would get to the truck stop and realise something was wrong, if he'd be able to follow the van here…

If wishes were white horses, he'd be arriving on one about now.

I'd better act as if the cavalry weren't coming. Even if the message I'd left for Eric had given him a pretty big clue to follow, there was no guarantee he'd be in time. I wasn't resting on my laurels waiting on him and Thalia. Chiding myself for getting distracted, I went back to listening.

When Harp looked at his watch again five minutes later, Grouch said, "Be here when they get here."

Harp muttered something and I saw Lance in his head accompanied by a pulse of respect.

So they _were_ working for vamps. Figured. Probably under duress. Typical vamp tactics were intimidation and threats, and not all vamps saw the need to tone that down any since the Revelation.

Although I bet Chico had some skeletons hidden. Literally. (I was careful not to shudder at that and give myself away.) So it could be common or garden blackmail.

Blackmail. Quinn, and Bardulf.

I spared a moment to wish my honey well before returning to the task at hand.

As the sedative wore off completely, I picked up more about our location through Harp's eyes. We were in a steel garage, with a concrete floor and a curved roof. An old place, by the rust spots. Thin foam padding had been laid down on the floor where we were.

Inside two wire cages. Great.

Pete was in with me, Daisy and Digger were together.

There was a gun rack over behind the table the Weres were play cards at, and some shelves stacked with stuff Harp paid no mind to, but from what I saw looked to be handcuffs, ammunition and the like. An open first aid kit sat on the work bench, next to a small TV, which was off. The place was pretty empty otherwise.

There was one entrance as fas as I could see, a garage door, one of those with a smaller door inside it. I steeled myself and reached outside to Chico. Through his eyes, I saw a driveway and the van. We were among some low hills, another building — a house, I thought from the dark shape— off to one side, but no other lights in sight.

No minds either, as far as I could reach. No-one to hear us scream.

Cautiously I began to read Grouch, getting bolder when he didn't react. I figured he'd taken a painkiller or two when he dressed those burns of his, which were neatly bandaged, and that was keeping him foggy.

Either that or he just didn't have the ability to sense me touching his mind. I hadn't exactly taken a survey of Were-witches to see if they could all detect telepathy. Maybe Hallow had been unusually gifted.

And Daisy too, but she was something else entirely.

I debated making a move before Lance arrived, but I didn't exactly have a plan. The ache in my hip was getting unbearable. I risked shifting my weight, eyes still closed. Grouch cursed and I froze.

Harp laughed, deep and joyful. "Pay up, loser."

I relaxed. Grouch was cursing the shitty hand he'd been dealt. More coins slid across the table. A pause, cards shuffling, and then the clear sound of a phone.

"ETA half an hour," Grouch announced after a minute._ Good. Should be worn off before that. No need to give 'em the wake up juice._

Harp grunted an acknowledgement, and I settled on playing possum a while longer.

Waiting until the others were awake to back me up made a whole lot of sense. Why I was awake already, I didn't know, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth and count its back teeth.

Unfortunately, without a way to direct our captor's thoughts I was relying on them to hit on what I needed to hear. The only concrete piece of information I got was that they'd known Daisy and Pete by name before they'd tracked us down at the truck stop.

From the tenor of Harp's thoughts, he was a simple man content to follow orders and let someone else make the difficult decisions. Not much potential for me to exploit there. Grouch, on the other hand, was complex. He glanced over at us a time or two, and regretted that he'd most likely be killing two women tonight. But that regret wasn't deep enough to give him pause, he felt … resigned. Like he'd done a deal with the devil, set his course and was grimly sticking to it.

A feeling I had reason to be familiar with, ever since I came into contact with vampires.

Lance had to be the devil riding Grouch's ass, pulling his strings. Lance, and the vampire faction behind him.

What I'd said about making things worse for twoeys popped into Grouch's head the next time he looked at me. He shook his doubts off, thinking: _No, she's wrong. Too naïve to know how the world works. Have to do this. Twoeys like me, at the edge, lining on the margins. We'll never fit in. Only strategy I can see salvaging anything for us._

His justifications came with a twinge of guilt and a dollop of frustration, and I had no idea what he meant.

How would any of this benefit Grouch? Everything I'd heard over the last week convinced me it the killings would souring things for all twoeys. Brandy, railroaded out of her home; teachers looking down their noses at twoey moms; children told not to play with twoey kids; twoeys with records being arrested for something they didn't do.

Hell, the way things were going law enforcement might throw away the tranquillisers and switch to shooting silver bullets first, asking questions later.

I saw nothing but disaster for twoeys if they kept on down this road.

Time trickled past. I was sore, frustrated, and still missing a link or three in what was going on when Digger began to stir.

He was groggy and as mad as a bear, or rather a wolf, with a sore head. Someone had smacked him good, and he had the mother of all headaches. He was cussing the tape over his mouth, the drugs and the silver cuffs, furious that he couldn't shift.

That was a blow. Our captors had been prepared for twoeys.

Pete and Daisy stirred about ten minutes later. With considerable relief, I stretched and wriggled my way to sitting up, which is not easy when half your muscles are as stiff as rocks. Our hosts were armed and alert, Grouch at our cage and Harp at the other.

Looking down the barrel of a gun sure got old real quick, let me tell you.

Grouch wasn't aiming at me though. He had a bead on Pete._ Don't know if that stuff works the same on them_

Of course, Pete wasn't your run-of-the-mill twoey.

Pete was also a genius, because he was already two steps ahead of me without the benefit of telepathy. Glaring at the gun, he gave a muffled snarl from behind the tape over his mouth and nudge my foot with his.

His voice whispered in my head: _Sookie, I think I can still shift. What about Digger?_

I shook my head a little, rubbing my forehead on my shoulder to disguised the movement and make it seem like I was still dazed, as Grouch was watching us closely. Pete, growling deep in his chest, threw himself backwards in a fair imitation of anger and landed by the wire mesh dividing the cages.

Daisy locked eyes with him, and a whole conversation must've taken place in that quick glance, because after it Pete sent me another, louder thought: _Daisy might be able to do something 'bout Digger, help him shift. Need to time it right, do it together. Break free of the cuffs. Gives us a chance._

I nodded and wiped my mouth on my shoulder a couple times. Pete got the message and rolled over onto his knees, his back to me and his fingernails scrabbling at the edge of the tape. I pressed against the sharpness, ignoring the pain.

Grouch banged on the cage. "Hey! None of that."

Pete pulled away, ripping the tape free and I yelped. Grouch and Harp swore, but I ignored them and whipped round to face Daisy.

The words burst out of me in one breath: "Hector's dead. They killed him."

All hell broke loose as Daisy kicked at the cage fit to bring it down and Digger and Pete slammed themselves at the cage doors and growled in their chests, deep and muffled.

Harp brought his gun up and gave a louder, deeper, truly menacing growl that shut everyone up. He said into the silence, "You worried for nothing, Grouch. If the bear don't shift when he's that mad, the bear can't shift."

Grouch was staring at me, going over everything that had been said since they snatched us. "Yeah, probably. Just one question. How the fuck did she know?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daisy move cautiously into a cross-legged position. Whatever she was up to, best I kept their attention on me.

"Hector was taking revenge," I said, shuffling awkwardly from my butt onto my knees. Damn cuffs. "Killing the men who killed his friends. A family, kids. He was angry. That I can understand. But you? You're killing to start a war. What the hell is your excuse?"

"She a witch too?" Harp was afraid. He grabbed at his neck, pulling a pendant out of his shirt.

"Can't sense any magic. Like nothing I've ever seen." Grouch shook his head, eyes fixed on me and his gun moving slowly to point at my heart. He didn't much like the disgust in my eyes and he was seriously considering pulling that trigger and shutting me up permanently.

I licked my lips. I knew Grouch had some decency somewhere; he'd protected me from Chico, in his own way. I just had to find it. "You know what this is going to do to twoeys. To your people. Families. Women, children. They'll get caught up in it. You think it's going to help somehow, don't you?"

"In the long run. It will," he said, shifting his weight and frowning at me. His thoughts were pinging all over the place, and I still didn't understand him. "Folk don't like different. Never have, never will. This is the only way for us to have a place." _Men like me. Harp's family will be protected. His mom, his sister. Can't save everybody._

On the edge of my awareness, Chico went alert. Someone was coming.

Shit. I spoke faster. "It's the vamps, isn't it? They're making you do this. We can fix it, whatever they've got on you. Let us out before they get here."

He laughed. "Oh, little lady, whatever it is you're doing, you ain't got the faintest idea what it would take to get us out of this."

A human mind came into range in the distance, and I relaxed a little. The visitor wasn't Lance, the vampire assassin. A second later the twoeys around me reacted to the noise of a car engine. All eyes turned to the door as Chico banged on it, the hollow thud echoing loudly from the bare steel walls.

…

The visitor was the third man.

All eyes were on him as he came inside, except for Daisy's. She was still cross-legged, rocking slightly as if she'd taken news of Hector's death hard. I hoped that was cover for working some mojo.

The man was dressed in a rumpled black suit, white shirt, black tie and a long black overcoat. He was tall and grey-haired, and his face was heavily lined. Digger recognised his scent and I knew him from somewhere, I knew I did.

Harp stood straighter and Grouch greeted the new guy with a nod and a sarcastic thought: _Our civilian overlord._

What? They were acting like this man was in charge. But I thought Lance…

I kept quiet as Grouch reported in a clipped voice: "Acquired the targets Daisy Riverstone and her brother Pete Winchester, along with two Weres, and a human woman. Clean sweep. One fatality, already disposed of." _In a shallow grave, near the others._

I was glad Daisy couldn't hear that. I focused on the newcomer, who had the most easy to read mind in the room being human.

"Any problems?" Overcoat said, satisfied a threat to the operation had been removed.

"Just one." Grouch pointed at me. "The blonde knows things she shouldn't."

"Like?"

"What happened to Menendez."

That was Hector.

"Any idea how she knew?" Overcoat said. He wondered several things in quick succession: if I'd told anyone before they captured me, if they had a leak somewhere, if Grouch had lied to him about the spells he cast to cover their tracks from other witches.

Overcoat was damn knowledgeable about the supe world for a human, and he certainly believed he was in charge.

"Hell if I know," Grouch said. "I'd swear she didn't know Menendez was dead before she got here."

"Let's find out, shall we."

Overcoat picked up one of the folding chairs by the table and set it down in front of the cage I was in. He reached inside his coat, felt around in his breast pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Sitting down, he took out a lighter and lit up, inhaled and blew out a cloud of smoke.

The way he held the cigarette, in the middle, with his thumb and first two fingers, hand below it… I'd seen that before.

The smoke reached me, and the smell of it curled into my mind and unlocked a memory. I was so taken aback that I blurted out: "You're FBI."

The memory wasn't mine. It was Lattesta's, from over a year ago. This was his boss, head of the Dallas task force. Tabner, I picked out of his head. John Tabner, that was his name.

He leaned forward, dark eyes calm and watchful, and the way they explored every inch of me and the cold, flat curiosity behind them gave me the creeps. He said slowly, "Now, how did you know that?" _What is she? Another witch? Something new?_

"Lucky guess," I said weakly and clamped my mouth shut, determined not to give anything else away. I'd had enough trouble with Lattesta once he found out what I could do, and my instincts said this man was much more dangerous.

Tabner was still scrutinising me intently. There was something about me, just out of his reach, on the edge of his mind. Then it was gone.

This man had worked with Lattesta. Did he know about me? I wished I knew more about the enchantment or whatever it was Niall had used to get the FBI off my back. It sure hadn't been enough for Lattesta to forget me.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Grouch cleared his throat. "We don't know. No ID. Must be the blonde who was seen at Carter's house."

"Obviously." He took a drag of his cigarette. "Do we know why surveillance went down at that location?"

"No." Grouch nodded at Daisy, who seemed lost in her own world. "The witch, I reckon."

_How fortunate I had the foresight to set up another source, _Tabner thought drily. I saw him visiting with an older woman, sitting in her neat lounge and sipping her insipid coffee as he convinced her keeping an eye on the house opposite was a matter of national security and her patriotic duty.

The neighbour at the mailbox. She'd been spying on Liz.

Tabner noticed my eyes narrowing, the flicker of emotion I let show. _What is she reacting to? It's almost as if —_

Then a shift, a ripple ran through his thoughts and scattered them. Like the ripple I'd sensed when Liz started to trust me.

Fairy magic. Was that Niall's protection? Lord, I hoped so.

What the hell was going on? The FBI watching Liz made sense when her husband had been exacting vengeance outside the law. But the brutal murders in Jackson and Shreveport couldn't be legitimate FBI business. Lance, or some other vamp, must have glamoured Tabner if he was involved in that.

"You checked the databases for her?" Tabner asked Grouch.

"Nothing."

Good. Niall had wiped my records by the sound of it, and I wasn't complaining. The less the FBI knew about me the better.

"Not even a driving licence?"

"No. She's a damn ghost." _Facial recognition, fingerprints. One of them should've turned up something._

Fingerprints. Son of a bitch! Grouch had fingerprinted and photographed me while I was out.

Tabner leaned forward. "Now that's interesting," he said, smoke wreathing his head as he brought the cigarette to his mouth again.

"What?" Grouch was irritated. He didn't like Tabner, didn't trust him. Maybe I could work with that.

"She reacted to what you said, but not until a few seconds later. Why would that be?"

Damn, he was good at reading people. He was close to hitting on the truth too, but again that ripple shifted his thoughts.

It seemed weaker. Maybe there was a limit to it, maybe it could be overcome if the truth was staring him in the face. I'd better distract him.

"I'm handcuffed and in a cage," I said sarcastically. "I'm not gonna be reacting normally, am I?"

"Hm. But you're far from hysterical. In fact, you're remarkably in control of yourself. Almost as if you've been trained." _An agent from another agency? No, I don't think so. Just someone used to this type of scenario._

He was sharp as a whip. Suddenly being on my knees for this duel of wits didn't sit well with me. I staggered inelegantly to my feet, pressing up to the cage as I went on the offensive, trying to turn the interrogation round on him. "You're trying to start a war. Why? What's the goal here, apart from a whole lot of bloodshed?"

_Why is it so hard to realise the game has changed? Someone has to do the unpalatable, or we lose what security we have. _"Spare me the bleeding heart," he said. "We must adapt to the new order, and social change is never a pain-free process."

"We? Who's we? Because I sure don't feel part of the club here," I said, shrugging awkwardly at the cage between us.

"Are you not an American, Miss…?"

I ignored the implicit question. "Yes, I'm American. A citizen in a country that believes all men are created equal. That ring a bell, or is that not a truth you hold self-evident?"

"You see?" he said, turning to Grouch. "They buy whatever lies we tell to soothe them."

Grouch, I noted, found him as disturbing as I did.

Tabner took another slow drag of his cigarette. "But we're not talking about _men, _are we? Or being that were created , they are beings who present a clear and present danger."_ A threat that must be eliminated, contained. Leashed._

He didn't mean just Weres, although the word leashed was accompanied by thoughts of Grouch and his men. He was also remembering the shock of vamps coming out of the coffin, endless panicked strategy meetings, arguments with other grey men in suits.

Fighting to set upthe agency. His agency, the covert one that had been investigating supes ever since the Revelation.

Tucking that titbit away, I reminded myself to react to his words. I couldn't afford to slip up again. Some divide and conquer wouldn't go a miss.

"You believe that bullshit the Fellowship puts out, that God didn't have a hand in their creation?" I pointed at Grouch and Harp with my chin.

"I'm not qualified to say," Tabner said with a dry chuckle. "God is outside my area of expertise." _Although religion can be a convenient tool._

He had a man inside the Fellowship. A man to whom he'd delivered Gary, Liz's brother, knowing those idiots would frame him, kill him, leave Brandy an orphan. I used all my skills to keep my anger off my face, and spoke directly to Grouch.

"Why are y'all helping him? Sounds to me like he thinks y'all are scum. What's he got over you?" Or what has Lance got, if the vamps were really running this show.

Grouch shook his head grimly. "Try again, lady. That ain't gonna work."_ He don't hold my leash. We're not his men._

Whose men were they? Lance's?

"Her accent," Tabner said unhurriedly. "It's not Texan."

"No. Louisiana, I reckon," Grouch said.

"Louisiana. Hm." _Lattesta was there. That case, something fishy about it. Ruined his partner, Weiss. Waste of a good agent._

Oh shit.

Pete, who'd been following the conversation and edging closer, nudged me with his knee and thought:_ Hector. Ask about Hector._

Like a drowning fool, I clutched at the first straw I saw without checking it would hold my weight and I asked, "How did you find Hector?"

Tabner sat back, eyes flicking between Pete and me. _There. It's almost as if … as if …_

The ripple came and faded, came and faded, and left the clear, shining thought intact: _as if he told her what to ask._

_ESP. Psychic? No. Telepathic. Kill her! Too many secrets, can't let her have them! Wait. Hold. She could be useful. Another string to my bow._

All that passed through his mind in less than a moment, and in that moment my blood turned to ice. I could see his plans unfolding, see the facility, its cold concrete walls, the room he'd hold me in, see the way control of my life would be stripped from me.

No. No, I couldn't let that happen. Anything but that. It was my Room 101, my kryptonite.

How could I stop him? Tell him I had the protection of a fairy prince? I bit back a hysterical giggle and my breathing became fast and harsh. Pete nudged me again, and I blocked out his concern and the puzzled look Grouch was giving me by closing my eyes.

Get it together, Stackhouse.

No. No phoning a fairy. Not only would it not work because the FBI were ignorant of the nature of the threat, but this was the man, one of a group of men, who catalogued and profiled and cross-referenced everything about supernaturals. Who were actively searching for new kinds of supes.

To use, like tools in a tool box. That was how he thought of Grouch and Harp.

Niall. Meredith. Dermot too, if he ever came back to visit. I squeezed my eyes shut imagining them in that cold concrete room. No, I couldn't risk revealing the fairies. This man was the last person who should be given that knowledge.

"You might as well tell me your name. I will find it out," he said as he crushed his cigarette butt on the concrete and reached inside his coat for another. "You know mine, don't you?"

Grouch reacted to that with shock. He didn't even know it. I kept my eyes fixed on Tabner with an effort, and the son of a bitch smiled slowly.

He began thinking at me: _Want to know how I found Hector? Read my mind._

What he was doing was wrong. I wanted to know his secrets because if — no,_ when — _I got out of here I was going to tell people about that facility of his. Eric, Desmond Cataliades. Niall. They'd know what to do, how to shut it down.

And he was beginning to doubt his conclusion: maybe I wasn't a telepath.

If I was careful…

Taking the risk, I blanked my face and followed thoughts as cold and twisted as any I'd heard from a vampire. Putting flashes of his memory together, I got the gist of what had happen in Houston.

He'd been working with vamps for at least a year. He'd been furious with Joseph for murdering Scott and driving the vigilantes into hiding. He'd given Gary to the Fellowship hoping to flush Tooth 'n Claw out.

When that tactic failed, he arrested some of the Chosen to pacify his bosses in the FBI. Not his real bosses, he answered to somebody else, some shadowy group behind the scenes, the agency he helped set up and…

And who? He was deliberately not thinking about the others. Damn it.

He let some of the Chosen go free as bait, watched them. That was how he cottoned on to Hector killing them. Which was all good by Tabner, because he wanted twoeys to look dangerous, out of control.

But no-one knew about it. Not satisfied a few low-key murders would be enough to set the country aflame, Tabner brought in Grouch's team to eliminate Hector and carry out a killing spree more suited to his plans.

He remembered his first meeting with Grouch.

And slammed me with a series of images so fast I couldn't avoid them: Chico's psychological profile, photos of his previous victims, descriptions of what he'd done to them.

_I could let him play with you. Just long enough to break you._

I hauled my shields shut. Too late. My neck was damp, my heart was racing, and I was sure some revulsion had shown on my face.

Grouch started forward, staring at me. "What the hell did you do to her?" he asked Tabner, confused.

"Oh, just a little test."

"You bastard," I whispered, kicking myself for falling for that trick.

It wasn't as if it was anything new. Lattesta had tried something similar. Maybe it was standard FBI procedure: find a telepath, think of the most disgusting, upsetting things you can. Hell, even Andy Bellefleur had been bright enough to come up with that one.

Tabner took a lazy drag of his cigarette and smiled a reptilian smile. "I would apologise, but you'd know it was a lie, wouldn't you?" _And testing you was necessary. Iron must be tempered to create a worthy tool._

"Everyone's a tool to you, aren't they?" I spat. There was no point hiding it any more, he knew.

I looked at Grouch, pleading with him silently.

He shook his head slightly. This was one of the devils riding him. Tabner, with the weight of the powerful men behind him. He wouldn't cross him. He had his orders, and a skewed concept of loyalty that bound him to obey them.

He was just another tool in the arsenal too.

A bang reverberated from the door. Chico, announcing an approaching void.

…

The vampire that came in had a round face, sandy hair and brown eyes.

Lance. Wearing boots, jeans and a black polo neck. Digger and Pete gave muffled growls, and Pete cursed in his head at the worsening of our odds if it came to a fight. Daisy was still doing her thing. Tabner gave the vampire an unimpressed glance, but Harp and Grouch went on alert, their guns and their eyes following him.

I didn't trust Lance as far as I could spit either, but the sight of the vampire actually lifted my spirits. Ironic, huh? I'd been planning to escape before he arrived, but at this point I reckoned he was preferable to Tabner.

_I just knew Tabner would screw his own grandmother over without even blinking._

Fancy that, I found a human who was more repugnant than a vampire assassin. Sadly it wasn't the first time. Lenier. Glassport.

_Okay, I'd met vamps who were just as ruthless_, but it was my life Tabner intended to wreck and I was less inclined to be sanguine about that. Now Lance was here, I at least had a chance to play the fairy prince card.

Especially if, as I suspected, Lance had glamoured Tabner into being his flunky.

A girl could hope.

"You dealt with the witnesses?" Tabner asked. _Such a useful skill, glamour._

"Yes, the ones I could find." Lance had a quiet, deep voice that didn't match his boyish face. "Shouldn't be a problem."

Well, hell. Tabner thought Lance worked for him. But he could be wrong about that.

"If you think the vamp is working for you you're a fool, Tabner," I said. No reason not to reveal his name. I had nothing to lose, and lashing out at the guy sure made me feel better.

Grouch stiffened, wishing he hadn't heard that name. Tabner carefully knocked ash from his cigarette onto the floor, which wasn't enough of a reaction to be satisfying.

The vamp in question had gone very still once he actually looked at me.

Intending to stir up a little dissent, I carried on. "Oh, he's probably glamoured you to think so, but vamps always have their own agenda, believe me. He's using you."

Tabner replied as if he was indulging a small child. "Of course. Just as I'm using him. That is how you handle someone more powerful. Recognise their power, know what they want, come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."_ And take precautions. Even Stoker wrote about glamour. Did she think I wouldn't prepare for it? Uneducated, I bet. She's going to need a lot of training._

Grouch had given him some sort of protection against glamour. Damn. Well, that explained why I hadn't seen any holes in his mind.

Lance, who was still staring at me, shifted his weight slightly.

Harp lifted his gun and rumbled warningly, "Don't."

Lance ignored him. "Do you know who this is, Tabner?"

Tabner was irritated that Lance knew his name now, but he swallowed his annoyance. "No. She's a telepath. I take it you know her."

"Of her, yes. This is Sookie Stackhouse," Lance said softly. "And you learnt what she can do in less than an hour. You truly are brilliant, for a human. It will be a pity to dissolve our association."

Tabner's mind rang with shock, but he turned slowly to face the vampire without showing it. "Why would we do that?"

"Because the telepath is correct, in a sense. My agenda just diverged from yours. I'm afraid her presence is a complication that overrides our arrangement."

Tabner was pissed. He had really believed Lance shared enough of his goals to guarantee his loyalty for the duration of this operation, and the money he'd been paid was supposed to seal the deal. "You have another objective beyond leashing the Two-Natured?"

This time I got an insight into what _leashing _meant: a flash of Capitol Hill, and a senator. Tabner wanted to push some law through that would affect twoeys. Something that needed anti-twoey hysteria to pass, hence the killing spree.

Politics was bloodier than I'd known.

"Yes," Lance said. "Was the telepath carrying anything that could be used to track her?"

"A phone," Grouch said, "but we disabled it."

"Where is it?"

Grouch indicated the canvas bag, over by the TV. "She belong to someone?"

Confused and irritated about it, Tabner asked, "Which agency does she belong to?"

"I didn't mean an agency," Lance said coolly, riffling through the bag.

Harp chuckled and Grouch grinned at him, thinking:_ Shoe's on the other foot now. Do Tabner good to be the one in the dark for once. Never sat easy with me, him knowing so much about us._

I agreed. I was kinda relieved Tabner didn't know everything about the supe world, to be honest. I was less relieved when Lance pulled my phone out, sniffed it and cursed.

"Were-witch, this has magic in it. Didn't you notice?"

My heart leapt. Eric. What Daisy had said about his laptop and that witch of his, Poppy. She'd done something to the phone. He was on his way.

"Fuck, no," Grouch admitted, casting me a dark look. "That damn necklace in there is off the scales. Blots everything else out. Who's tracking her? A vamp? Davis?"

"Northman," Lance said, examining the phone thoughtfully. "My current employer wants him finally dead. Enough to offer a fat bounty that makes it worth the risk."

As I wondered who Lance was working for, Grouch exchanged a look with Harp and both their minds began to churn with adrenaline.

"What are you waiting for?" Grouch snapped. "Disable that fucking thing before Northman finds us."

It seemed they'd heard of Eric.

"I am debating whether I should," Lance said coolly. When he looked up, his fangs were down. The bloodthirsty expression at odds with his boyish face made him look eerily like André for a second. "Northman is virtually alone. He will come quickly. It is the perfect time to ambush him. Assist or leave. Don't interfere."

"These men are under my control," Tabner said. "They will do as I say."

Everyone ignored him, and I shouldn't have enjoyed that as much as I did.

Grouch swore, loped across the room and broke open the gun locker. He tossed a bizarre looking handgun to Harp — it was too chunky and looked to be plastic — ,and bounded out the door with another. I could hear him warning Chico not to take any chances as Tabner, pale and face pinched with anger, also helped himself to a gun out of the locker.

Harp swore softly as he checked over the strange gun, tensing at the thought of battle. I empathised. Lance must be pretty old if he reckoned he could take down Eric. I crossed my fingers that Thalia was coming too.

"No," Lance murmured, still considering the phone. "Better to frustrate him, throw him off his game."

Whipping a knife from his boot, he slipped the blade into the phone and levered it open. He hissed as it gave out a bright flash of light and a pop like the sound of an air rifle. A puff of black smoke wafted out of the phone. Lance sniffed at it cautiously, grimacing.

While he was doing that, I'd narrowed down his employer to Felipe or Bardulf. Murders in Shreveport, Amarillo, and Jackson: that meant a vamp targeting Eric, Stan and Russell. They were the best candidates.

Then I remembered Lance had been in California.

"Felipe de Castro," I guessed as Grouch came back inside. "You're working for him."

I got confirmation. Not from Lance, or Tabner, who recognised the name but was surprised to hear it. From Grouch, who wasn't surprised at all.

"You knew?" I asked him.

He threw Harp a clip of silver bullets and growled, "Of course."

"You did?" Tabner was furious that Grouch hadn't shared that with him.

"Not much the old man doesn't know." _Never sends us in blind. Met with Felipe himself, made a deal. Or we'd have killed the vamp. Still might._

The old man. A US General. One prepared to loan one of his black ops teams, the ones that handled the dirtiest jobs, to Tabner. One prepared to do that because he believed America needed twoeys to give its army an edge. He wanted a draft, a twoey draft so he could cherry-pick the best.

The FBI, the US army and Felipe. That was one hell of an unholy alliance.

And they'd all back-stab each other as soon as spit. Jesus Christ Sheppard of Judea. "Y'all deserve each other," I said in disgust.

Tabner cleared his throat. "Lance, what happens to the Stackhouse girl?"

"I need her as bait. After that…" He bared his fangs. "Death."

He broke a leg off one of the chairs with a loud crack and began to whittle a make-shift stake with his knife. I hoped he slipped and cut off a finger.

"I have protection," I said, glaring at him. "People will come after you if you kill me." Fairies. With silver teeth.

"They won't find me. That protection put you beyond Felipe's reach. He has wanted you for a long time, and if he can't have you, he's decided no-one can."

"So what you're saying is she needs to disappear," Tabner said thoughtfully.

Lance looked up from his woodwork. "What are you proposing?"

"She might be more valuable to you alive than dead."

"It would have to be worth my while to double-cross Felipe." His voice practically dripped with greed. Lance, it seemed, was out for himself first and foremost, and quite happy to play Felipe and Tabner off each other.

He was still a hair more likeable. At least Lance didn't pretend he was doing it for the greater good.

"Double your fee," Tabner offered. That was a cool half a million.

"Tempting. You will have to fake her death."

Oh, just wonderful. They were haggling my life away.

"I can arrange that," Tabner said smoothly. "A fire, perhaps. This place is compromised anyway. And I will take her now, before Northman arrives."

"I will need to spill some of her blood. To convince Felipe she was killed here."

"Triple your fee. Take it or leave it."

"Done. She's all yours. The usual account. Now, before we part ways."

Tabner pulled out a phone to make a call.

I shouldered the cage in frustration and Grouch pointed his gun at me again. Son of a bitch. I made a last desperate appeal to him. "Tabner is using you. He'll turn y'all in if it suits him, frame you for the murders. You know he will."

"I got my orders."

"You'd sell your own kind down the river, and for what? Power? Money?"

Grouch snorted. "No. For security. Lady, you don't know what folks are capable of when they're afraid. And it'll happen. Someone will slip up, one full moon. Or a video of something humans don't understand will go viral. It won't take much for humans to turn on us. This way, we have a use, a way to serve our country. Folks will be grateful."

He meant the draft his General wanted.

"What you mean is you're a killer and you don't want to give up the chance to keep killing! Don't let him take me."

He flinched, but his remorse didn't amount to a hill of beans. "You know too much. I can't let you go free. It's that, or short walk to a shallow grave, same as your friends there. Speaking of which." He turned to Harp. "We need to kill them before Northman arrives."

Pete tenses behind me and thought: _Be ready._

Harp opened our cage real fast, and shoved Pete when he charged at him. Pete went sprawling. I was grabbed and pulled out, kicking and cursing. Harp shoved me across the room to the vampire.

"Y'all are no better than cold-blooded killers," I yelled.

Lance tore my coat off me and grabbed my arms, squeezing hard until I stopped struggling.

"History will judge us," Tabner said. "The many require the sacrifice of the few. You people never take that to its logical conclusion. The sacrifice doesn't have to be willing."

Lance slashed my arm with his knife, so fast the first sensation I felt was warmth on my skin from the rush of blood. It was a deep cut. He let the blood drip on the floor as Grouch and Harp ushered the others out of the cages, keeping their guns trained on them.

There was an odd energy to Daisy's mind, and I could feel Pete and Digger readying themselves, but I was light-headed and woozy from the blood loss. Lance held me up as Tabner tied a makeshift tourniquet around my arm. Tabner half-carried me outside, my legs rubbery. The others came out after us, Pete fighting all the way, making things as difficult as possible so no-one noticed Daisy sticking close to Digger.

Chico was a few feet away, scanning the hills. He hissed urgently for us to shut up, worried that the night critters had gone silent.

Pete began that flickering change, and all hell broke loose.

...

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A/N: There may have been a small tribute to the X files in there...


	44. Choices

Hi all! Thanks for the reviews. I had to split what I had planned into two chapters, so this one is a little shorter than usual. Enjoy!

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**Choices**

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I made several tactical errors that night, the most serious of which was vastly underestimating the amount of trouble that could find Sookie in a single day. In hindsight, I could see my mistakes clearly. In the moment, I was blind.

…

I rose with the ancient seer's words rustling through my mind: _A wise man waits._

My first mistake: I did not rush to ready myself for the night. Because of those words? No. Truthfully, because the sting of Sookie's rejection still smarted and I wanted to re-group before seeking her out. I showered, dressed and lounged on the bed with my tablet, searching for the video Pam had sent me. Schadenfreude was just what I needed to brighten my night.

A click and Alcide appeared, in a dark suit, with his hair gelled into almost tidy submission. His interviewer was a pretty young woman in a blouse and skirt. Pink fingernails showed on the hand she had wrapped around her microphone.

"…runs a local construction business. You're Two-Natured yourself, Mr Herveaux?"

She pointed the microphone at him. Alcide blinked and visibly straightened.

"Yes. That's right," he said confidently. Then he undermined that confidence by clearing his throat and tugging awkwardly at the sleeve of his jacket.

"What do you think of reports linking the terrible events in Jackson to a murder here in Shreveport? Do you think we have a rogue wolf on the loose?"

"It's possible. But it's not a local." He ran a finger round his collar, his eyes darting sideways twice before they locked onto the camera and widened in apparent anxiety.

Had he meant to appear defensive and, pardon the pun, _shifty?_

I enjoyed a brief feeling of superiority: vampires didn't sweat, fidget or betray ourselves with nervous tics. We had the opposite problem. Our stillness on camera came across as cold and robotic, but all pre-Revelation vampires knew how to fake human tells and could prevent that impression if they wished.

Some of us had perfected the art of appearing human centuries ago.

Alcide needed a body language coach. Pam should recommend one, if she hadn't already.

I imagined she'd been sufficiently blunt about his performance.

After a brief but awkward silence, the woman realised her interview was about to go tits-up and prompted him with a question. "Why do you think it's not a local, Mr Herveaux?"

He started, tore his eyes from the camera and gave her a weak smile before he rattled off what was clearly a prepared answer: "Here in Louisiana, folks like me have good relations with the community. We do an honest day's work, pay our taxes and raise our families. Just like y'all."

Better. Whoever spoon-fed him that had the right idea, emphasise what shapeshifters had in common with humans.

He warmed to his theme. "Twenty-seven days out of twenty-eight, we're just like regular folks. We even go fishing, have cookouts and help our kids with their math homework. If we understand it, of course." He smiled at his own joke, and the journalist laughed politely. "Now, I've talked to a lot of other folks like me. We're all appalled by what happened in Jackson. The person who did that isn't one of us. He's an outsider, a criminal."

Good tactic, distancing himself from the killers.

"Other people like you?" the interviewer asked, pouncing on that detail. "Where do y'all meet?"

"Oh, we socialise like regular folks," he answered carefully. "At church, at school, at Little League."

"Casually or something more formal, like a lodge perhaps?"

He ducked the question, laughing. "No secret handshakes, no. Nothing like that. We just talk over a beer. You know how it is."

Nice recovery. No need to mention pack meetings and open that can of worms.

"But you speak for the community, right?"

"You could say that. I run a successful company, here and in Jackson, Mississippi. I reckon I have a duty to speak up," he said modestly and smiled winsomely at the camera.

Perhaps an error to show that number of teeth, but other wise he was handling things more smoothly.

A caption flashed up, from Pam. _Maker, this is where he really screws up. Cynthia was spitting nails._

Cynthia? Ah, yes. The bitch he married.

"A profitable company too, from what I hear," said the interviewer.

Ah. Her voice had taken on on another tone entirely. A warm, inviting one.

"Yes, I do alright for myself." His smile became flirtatious.

She flicked her hair. "So, you might say you're an alpha male?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," he said and winked at her, his eyes flashing green. "But folks seem to listen to my advice."

I chuckled. Yes, his woman was going to string him up by the balls for flirting shamelessly. On camera too.

She practically purred at him: "And what colour wolf is it you turn into?"

"A black wolf, ma'am." His voice had cooled considerably, and he ran his hand through his hair, messing it up.

Ah, yes. I was amused the first six times some overeager woman asked to see my coffin, but that amusement paled rapidly. It seemed the inane questions humans asked had gotten stale just as quickly for Herveaux.

The woman didn't seem to noticed, though. Her hand went to her neck and she asked, "Would you ever consider giving someone the bite?"

Alcide face was a picture.

I laughed out loud. Welcome to my world, Herveaux. He looked like he'd just smelt shit.

This was the new craze: Were-bites, the way to become more than human without giving up the day. Alcide, if he hadn't learned it already, would soon realise that most wannabe-supes were desperate, disenfranchised, or just plain dumb.

Payback was a bitch, wasn't it? If I had a dollar for every woman who'd offered me her body hoping I'd turn her in the early years after the Revelation … I'd be poorer than I was.

Fangtasia's cover charge was set high for a reason.

The video looped back to the start, and my thoughts turned, inevitably, to Sookie. And Quinn. Who seemed to be a game changer, if her refusal of my advances was anything to go by.

Rolling onto my back, I clasped my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling. Why Quinn? I thought him arrogant, over-confident, and not all that bright. Clearly, Sookie saw something in him I did not. My personal feelings about the matter aside, cold logic told me Sookie needed someone who understood her ability and her past, someone who could navigate the supernatural world. Someone warm, if she wanted children. Someone she could read at least somewhat, someone who wouldn't find it as easy as Bill had to deceive her.

A shapeshifter fit the profile.

I glanced at the footage of Alcide. Hm. I couldn't see Sookie in the role of packmaster's wife. There was Quinn's obvious advantage: he didn't run with a pack.

That brought it's own problems. Five or six years ago, Quinn was at the height of his profession, and his reputation brought him enough respect that the lack of a pack did not matter. After his betrayal of Sophie Ann, his stock had fallen. Considerably.

Now, his independence looked more like vulnerability. Shit. I really needed to tell Sookie that Bardulf was up to something.

A knock followed that sobering thought. It was Thalia. Up with the sunset, unusually. I stepped back to let her into the room, but she stayed put.

"They are not in their rooms," she said, her lip curling. "And a wolf has been here, the local one."

I raised an eyebrow, and leaned out into the corridor to take a sniff. The wolf-mountain with the stupid name. Digger.

"I will call them," I said, leaving the door open as I crossed the room to get the burner phone.

Thalia looked at the table by the door, where I'd left the tablet, and sneered at the video I'd left playing. "Herveaux is a natural."

"Isn't he just?" I said as I dialled Daisy's number.

Both of us turned at a faint sound from the corridor. A phone, ringing in Daisy's room, just audible to our ears.

Thalia cursed softly.

Fuck. I tried the bear's phone, and growled when that got me another ringtone from the corridor.

"Impudent witch!" Thalia hissed, "She meant to ditch us."

I looked down at the phone. "Wait. I have a message."

A voice mail, time-stamp 11:30 am. I waved Thalia into my room and played it.

"Hi. We've gotten a lead." Sookie's voice was low, and there was an echo. A small room, hard surfaces. A bathroom? She didn't want to be overheard. "A truck stop on the I-10, past San Antonio. We're heading there now. I'm, uh, taking this phone."

Clever woman.

I smirked at Thalia. "It seems not all the breathers agreed with keeping us in the _dark_."

Thalia rolled her eyes. "Your puns do not improve with time."

Chuckling, I opened the tracking program on my tablet and made my second mistake: I relaxed when Sookie's phone showed on the map, by the interstate and stationary. I was not used to Sookie being where I expected her to be, and I let that reassure me.

Thalia was still far from pleased. "How far?" she growled.

I measured the distance. "Five hours by car. Four if I drive. Less than that if we take a plane as far as San Antonio."

Retrieving the spelled compass needle from the nightstand, I checked its pull matched what the tablet showed. It did. Poppy had said to keep it close to me and out of contact with 'unnatural influences'. When I asked, she said that mostly meant electronics.

I tugged out a hank of hair, braided it and used it to secure the needle to one of the leather cords I'd brought for my hair. Tying the improvised pendant round my neck I said, "I must call Stan. You call the airlines."

…

The charter company in Houston was down a plane — mechanical problems of some kind — and their other planes were booked until midnight. Commercial flights were either booked or too late to save us journey time.

Cursing the time we'd wasted on discovering that, I grabbed my leather jacket, shoved the burner phone into it and gestured sharply for Thalia to follow me.

Down in the parking garage, Thalia hissed and pointed.

The car I'd hired for the Weres was still there.

Fuck. Yes, they'd deliberately ditched us. I would be having words with Daisy Riverstone, harsh words.

I drove, but four hours had been an optimistic estimate. The interstate was swarming with highway patrols, patrols that I could no longer glamour into turning a blind eye.

I cursed that idiot in Rhode Island who'd been caught glamouring his way out of ticket every time I had to slow down for one.

I cursed again when the signal from Sookie's phone winked out from the tablet I had balanced on the dash. It was ten o'clock, and we were just approaching San Antonio.

Thalia scowled. "The witch found the phone."

"Probably. Or the battery died." I wrapped a hand around the compass. It tugged north-west, following my blood and the interstate. "The spell is intact. They haven't moved."

That was my third mistake: I had anticipated Sookie switching her phone off or a dead battery, so I assumed an innocent explanation for the loss of signal. I should have assumed the worst.

Driving as fast as I could, I got us to the truck stop around midnight.

There was no sign of Sookie, or the others, but their scent was all over the parking lot.

Mingled with the smell of adrenaline, scorched flesh and the stink of at least three unknown Weres, maybe four.

A fight. An hour ago, maybe two. When we lost the phone signal.

The truck stop was quiet. We abandoned the car and went out into the scrub, out of sight. Thalia leapt onto my back and I launched us into the night, the compass clenched in my fist, the cord wrapped around my wrist.

It pulled south-west, away from the interstate. Good. The phone was probably still with Sookie, but the tug gave me no indication of how far away she was.

…

I flew us straight and fast, over rolling, dusty hills dotted with patches of brush and the occasional waterhole. No witnesses below, thankfully. This was cattle and sheep country, the musky smell of livestock muted by our altitude and the winter cold.

The tug inside my fist vanished without warning.

Cursing, I slowed. "The spell is broken."

Thalia tightened her legs around my waist and pointed past my ear, at the point on the horizon I'd used to mark the direction the compass had been pulling in. "That way. I smell something."

I smelt nothing myself, but the air was still and Thalia was older than I was. Nodding, I flew faster.

The faint scent of Weres began to drown out the background smell of livestock as we approached the next line of hills. I was slowing even as Thalia's knees squeezed my waist and she gestured for me to land.

But not before I'd seen the faint outlines of a farmstead gleaming in the moonlight, on the other side of the hills.

I took us down below the hilltop, out of sight. Thalia dropped from my back as soon as my feet hit the ground. The brush, dense thickets of mesquite, gave us excellent cover as we worked our way over the ridge.

The farmstead came into view, nestled in the dip of a shallow valley. A low bluff about halfway down the slope separate it from our position — a bluff that was no barrier to either of us. The farmhouse itself faced us, dark and unlit. In front of it was a flat, open area of packed dirt. A single unpaved road came in from the left, a car parked where it ended. There was a second building to the right, a steel construction with a curved roof. A barn, perhaps. No windows, but a crack of light outlined a door, facing the farmhouse. A rough path skirted around this side of the barn and lead off, up the valley.

I signalled to Thalia to scout to the right. She disappeared into the dark, taking a line towards the head of the valley as I made my way silently down the slope for a closer look.

There was a van tucked half out of sight around the side of the farmhouse. And a lookout pacing the edge of the dirt closest to me.

A Were. Armed.

Thalia appeared out of the darkness and she reported, too low for the Were to hear.

"Graves, further up. Shallow. One fresh, an unknown wolf." She pointed at the steel barn. "The others are there, about to exit."

Raised voices and the sounds of a struggle came from inside. "How many?" I said quietly as my fangs snicked down.

"Three Weres. One bloodbag." Her eyes glittered and she gave a shark-like smile. "One vampire. Older than you. He is mine."

My blood rising, I gave her a fang-filled smile of my own. "I take the wolves. And the bloodbag."

"Done."

We made our way swiftly forward, arriving at the bluff as a parade of captives emerged from the barn: Sookie first, in cuffs and half-supported, half-dragged by the bloodbag I'd marked as mine, who was armed and making a bee-line for the parked car; next, Digger and Daisy, both in cuffs and mouths taped, shoved towards the dirt path that lead to the graves by a Were with a gun and a moustache; then the bear, similarly restrained but struggling mightily as he was dragged out of the barn by another, bigger, armed Were; and lastly one vampire. Our friend Lance, face visible in the light from the open door for a very brief moment.

Three wolves and a vampire.

A full house of suspects, and a bloodbag to spare. My fangs tingled in anticipation and my muscle bunched as I crouched, ready to spring.

The Were lookout stilled and looked towards our position. As he called out to the others to be quiet, Lance sped away from the barn, head swinging from side to side as he scented the air.

Time to party.

I signalled to Thalia with a sharp cutting motion. We leapt over the low bluff with a ferocious battle cry that echoed around the hills. As if that was a prearranged signal, the bear began to shift, snapping his handcuffs like cotton, and Daisy kicked her captor in the shins and slammed into the wolf Digger. As Thalia and I shot towards our foes faster than humans could track, the scent of Daisy's magic, earthy and fecund, permeated the air.

Thalia went straight for the vampire, who launched himself at her. They met with the solid thud of a blow landing, and became a blur in the corner of my eye as I went for the lookout.

Forgoing the pleasure of a bite, I hit him fast and hard, my hands locking around his head and twisting sharply. His neck snapped, and he dropped like a stone. Before he hit the ground, I was moving towards the other two Weres, assessing the situation en route.

The bear was fully shifted, tape hanging loose from his muzzle. Growling, he barrelled his startled captor to the ground before he could raise his gun and fire. Digger head-butted his own equally slow to react captor, who fell to one knee, stunned. Digger strained at his handcuffs, his body fluid and rippling with a shift.

The enemy Weres were occupied. I changed course, aiming for Sookie. Once she was safe, blood would be spilt.

"Northman!" Daisy yelled, staggering sideways towards me, and holding her cuffed hands out from her body. "Free me!"

The bloodbag who had hold of Sookie was older, slower, and still yelling in shock at our attack. Calculating I had time for a brief detour, I launched myself off the ground.

That was my fourth mistake, and one that would prove most dangerous to me personally.

Sailing over Daisy, I landed neatly behind her and snapped her cuffs, hissing as the silver burnt my hands. She swayed, and fell to her hands and knees, retching. Shit. Whatever magic she'd done had cost her dear, and freeing her had not swung the odds in our favour.

I cast a vampire-quick eye over the battle as I took to the air again.

Thalia and Lance were still trading blows too fast to follow, arcs and splatters of their blood adding to the heady cocktail of scents. The bear was holding his own, but his opponent had gotten free and was shifting into a formidable wolf, clothes ripping. Digger had failed to break his cuffs, and was struggling to maintain his shift. His opponent had regained his feet, and his gun was swinging up.

Fuck. I was too far away, and already committed.

Sookie first.

The bloodbag had dropped her while I was freeing Daisy, and Sookie, her blood a heavy scent in the air, was crumpled on the ground. The crack of a shot and a muffled cry of pain told me Digger had bitten a bullet. The bloodbag backed away from Sookie, his weapon raised.

Enraged and bloodlust rising, I roared as I swooped down to land between them. His hand was steady, his aim good. He fired and I twisted so his bullet would miss my heart.

Pain beyond any gunshot I'd ever felt hit me in the side of my chest and took me off my feet. Fire lanced my ribs, burning and searing as I fell, every one of my muscles drawn impossibly tight, my limbs frozen.

Stiff as a corpse I hit the dirt. Hard.

Someone yelled. Sookie?

Not me. I couldn't move, or speak. Only snarl, my face pulled back in a tight grimace. The pain, saw-toothed and sharp, was relentless. I boxed it up, put it away, and used the only faculties I had left that functioned: my senses and brain.

Wires, two of them, spiralling from his bulky gun to my chest. Muscles forced to contract, spasming. The stench of burning flesh. A spreading weakness. Silver.

A taser. Adapted to us in some way. Hurt like a motherfucker. Shit. Should have had my jacket zipped.

I directed my attention to the others, managing to turn my head a little. In my periphery, I saw Thalia was down, stiff-limbed and snarling. Lance stood over her, back to me, and I assumed the worst: she'd been taken down with the same weapon that had incapacitated me.

Over by the barn, Digger was face down on the ground. Bleeding out judging by the dark, spreading stain around him. His opponent was gone, out of sight. By the noises and growling, the bear was still fighting, but he wouldn't last long if it was two on one. From what I'd seen, Daisy wasn't up to much in the way of resistance. Given the amount of her blood I could smell now I had time to pay attention, neither was Sookie.

I heard a chorus of snarling and the crackling discharge of electricity, and a voice yelled that the bear was down.

Shit. We were fucked. Royally.

The bloodbag came to stand in front of me, a calm look of superiority on his face that made my fangs lengthen despite the pain I was in.

"You see," he said to someone just out of sight on his right — Sookie, if she was still where I'd last seen her. "It's just a matter of finding a weakness to exploit. All their speed and strength means nothing if you cut off their ability to use it. But you know the best thing about vampires?" He smiled at me, a thin cruel smile. "The evidence disposes of itself. No need to dig a shallow grave, no need to dig a grave at all."

Fury erupted in my blood and I snarled, loudly.

A scorching pain rose above the ocean of agony, screaming for attention. A pain in my hand, trapped under my side by the way I'd fallen.

The signet ring. My anger. It must be red hot.

Demon powers were awakened by emotion, controlled by the will. The taser did not interfere with those. If I could access my gift, get the barbs out…

All bets would be off, and I would make this smug asshole sing a different tune entirely.

My muscles were still unresponsive and the silver had weakened me, but I summoned every reserve of strength I had. Stubbornly, clumsily, I began to work the signet ring off my finger with my thumb, dragging burnt skin with it.

Simultaneously, I fed my anger, stoking it higher. Not a hard task, not when some pathetic bloodbag had put my thousand year-old ass in the dirt.

It got even easier when Sookie, shivering with the cold, came into view. She was easing slowly onto her haunches, eyes on the bloodbag's hands.

Stupid woman! She was going to lunge at him.

I wasn't the only one who realised what she was doing. The bloodbag reached into his coat left-handed and pulled out a gun, a regular gun. He pointed it at her. "Stay right there."

"Go ahead and shoot," she said defiantly. "I'd rather be dead than work for you."

Stupid, stupid woman! Snarling, I pushed harder at the ring and it slipped another inch. Almost off. I visualised the barbs tearing out of my chest and felt a slight tugging, but nothing more.

The gun followed Sookie as she got stiffly to her feet, pointing unwaveringly at her heart. She was clutching a bloody strip of cloth tied around her arm.

"Come any closer," the bloodbag said, "and the vampire will feel it. A touch on this button, that's all it takes."

"You sick son of a bitch," Sookie said, determination in her eyes as she took a step forward.

I hissed as the pain ramped up to excruciating, but neither of them looked at me. Shit. Couldn't move. I was fucking helpless again.

She was going to get herself killed. I needed a distraction, a big one. The barn. The steel barn. I locked onto it, focused my rage, and imagined tearing it apart. The structure creaked quietly.

Yes. More.

More anger. I would kill the bloodbag for this. Tear his head off. Rend him bloody limb from bloody limb, his flesh ripped apart, blood spraying.

Bloodlust swept my anger into a raging inferno.

Rivets along the barn roof began to glow a dull red.

Sookie took another step, and another pulse of current hit me, but it was too late. Fighting the spasm, I pressed my heels into the dirt and lifted my weight off my hand. The ring slipped completely free of my finger and I let loose all my fury, digging deep.

Fury at this bloodbag, fury at Sookie for risking her life.

Fury at Freyda and Nadia for coming between us. At Quinn, at Bardulf, at de Castro.

At Ocella.

That fury accomplished two things: the silver barbs tore free of my chest and shot away from me; and, with a loud groan, the front of the barn buckled.

Free of the pain, free to move, I roared in triumph and shot to my feet. Daisy was stumbling and shaking her head, right in the path of disaster. Hot rivets popped like corn and the steel glowed like burning paper, spots flaring red and orange as it tore and exploded outwards.

I had a single instant to react. Some might count how I did as another mistake, but it was one I would not change given all the hindsight in the world.

There was no choice. Never any choice.

As the screech of tearing metal filled the night, I launched myself at Sookie, knocked her to the ground and covered her with my body. Red-hot steel rained down over all of us, pelting friend and foe alike.

…


	45. Shallow Graves, Deep Secrets

Thanks for all the reviews, and Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who celebrate. Enjoy!

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**Shallow Graves, Deep Secrets**

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The patter of debris died away.

A solitary piece of shrapnel had burnt through my jeans, scorching the back of my thigh and making me hiss, but my jacket had caught the worst of it. A shrug of my shoulders dislodged the remaining fragments from my back, and I lifted my head.

The barn was wrecked. Only part of the back wall was still standing. Cooling, twisted metal fragments littered the dirt, sizzling quietly where they rested on things with a high water content. Bodies, most likely. Or blood. The air reeked of it. Blood, burnt leather, hot metal — the scents wove into a tapestry of violence and death that evoked every battlefield I'd ever been on.

No-one else was stirring.

"What the hell happened?" Sookie whispered.

Caged beneath me, she twisted her head, impatient to see. I doubted she would enjoy the view, or the kiss I very much wanted to give her. My bloodlust had ebbed, but the ordinary kind was rising in its place.

Especially when she wriggled impatiently against me.

I wiggled my eyebrows at her and said in a deep voice, "Do that again."

"I'm getting the weirdest sense of deja vu," she said and began to giggle. Her stomach shook against mine, and as her laughter got louder it gained a hysterical edge. She choked it off. "Sorry. Blood loss is makin' me woozy."

"Ah."

She pushed at my chest and said quietly, "Let me up, Eric."

Retracting my fangs with some effort, I got to my feet. I had a need for blood that could wait, as if I had flown a great distance, and I surmised that was due to the energy I'd expended tearing a whole barn apart. I was quietly impressed with my new ability. My jacket was ruined, ragged holes seared in the back. Miraculously the burner phone, tucked safely in an inside pocket and protected by the leather, had survived the taser. I slipped it into my jeans and discarded the jacket. Sookie, sitting up now, was staring at the destruction, eyes wide. Her arm was oozing blood, a red stain flowering on the rough bandage tied around it, but she was otherwise intact.

I nodded at the wound. "Do you wish my blood?"

She shook her head, all traces of humour gone. "I'll be fine. There's a first aid kit in that lot somewhere."

A noise from the other side of the area scattered with debris made me tense into a crouch. It was Thalia, sitting up and cursing as she tore taser barbs out of her shoulder. She staggered to her feet, her thigh dark with blood and a stake in her hand. A body lay at her feet and she kicked it, hard.

Lance, the vampire she had been fighting. Looked like he was no longer a threat. Good.

We had been furthest from the barn, and spared the worst. Digger, the bear and the two enemy Weres had been closest, in an area now buried under an avalanche of steel. I spotted Daisy in the middle of the debris, curled up on her side. When I called her name softly, she stirred and raised an elbow. She looked to have escaped relatively intact and I could hear her even breathing. Nearby, the bloodbag with the taser had not been so lucky; he was down, breathing heavily and clutching at a deep laceration in his side.

I would eliminate that threat first.

He scrabbled in the dirt for his gun when he saw me coming, but I easily beat him to it with a burst of vampire speed. Flashing him my fangs, I checked the clip and handed the gun to Sookie. "Silver bullets. Keep it aimed at him."

"I will," she said grimly, glowering at the bleeding human. "I'll shoot his knee out if he so much as thinks out of turn."

I loved it when she was hard-headed. Grinning at her, I patted him down and relieved him of his wallet and phone. Then I cast around for the signet ring, and found it in the dirt. My finger was already healing, and I slipped it back on. That fucking taser was on the ground too, a few feet away.

"A word of advice, breather," I said, picking it up. "If you take down one of us, make it permanent."

I took great pleasure in crushing it before his panicked eyes. As weapons went, it was effective while it lasted, but short on staying power. Except for the burns on my chest from contact with the silver, I appeared to have recovered completely.

Grabbing the bloodbag by the collar, I dragged him over to Thalia and Sookie followed. Thalia had a gaping hole in her thigh, a shallow slash across her temple, and a ragged bite on her shoulder. Lance had come off far worse: bleeding from multiple deep bites and gouges, he was pinned to the ground by a sheet of steel that had almost severed his leg at the knee. From the angle of it, it wasn't my explosive rage that had put it there.

"Lanzo, you worthless bastard," Thalia said. She kicked his flank again, flourished the stake at him and bared her teeth, her mouth and fangs dark with his blood. "You missed."

He snarled at her and struggled to rise, but he was too weak to free himself. He resorted to a stream of insults in a mixture of German and Dutch.

"You know him?" I asked her, dropping the bloodbag and motioning for Sookie to keep the gun on him.

"Yes. He ended a child of mine."

Ah. I almost felt sorry for him. "We question him first. Then he is all yours."

She nodded. She was bone-white, and her eyes went to Sookie. I bared my fangs and indicated the Were whose neck I'd broken about twenty yards away. The fight had been short and he was still fresh. Thalia didn't need to be told twice; she was fang-deep in his neck a moment later. Sookie flinched at the tearing and gulping noises, but she didn't protest.

"He is past feeling it," I said coldly. She knew what we were.

"Shame," she muttered. I raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "Don't ask. Maybe his momma loved him, but I doubt anyone else did."

The look in her eyes made me regret snapping his neck so quickly. I was about to ask what he'd done to deserve her contempt when a harsh grating sound interrupted me. I whipped round to face the remains of the barn. The bear was pushing his way out of a pile of debris, naked and swearing. He had a couple of bite wounds, and a few burns, but otherwise he didn't look too worse for wear.

"Shit," Sookie gasped. "Digger's under there."

"What about their Weres?" I said.

She focused on the wreckage. "Harp, the big one, is still down. Grouch is coming round. He's pissed," she warned, "but he's trapped. Find Digger first. Please. He's fading real fast."

Thalia came with me, wiping her mouth. We followed the scent of blood, tossing broken steel sheeting aside until we uncovered the wolf, face down. Thalia rolled him over, and tore the tape off his mouth. He opened his eyes and coughed blood. Sucking chest wound. Catastrophic blood loss. He had minutes to live, and not many of them.

Thalia leaned over him. "Wolf. Do you wish to turn?"

He blinked slowly, and turned his head away. Blood bubbled from his mouth as his chest heaved.

"A quick death then," she offered.

He closed his eyes and breathed a barely audible yes.

"Someone give me a hand with these two fuckers," the bear called.

I left the dying wolf to Thalia and went to his aid. The large fucker — the one Sookie called Harp — was naked, and had taken the brunt of the exploding barn on his back. Badly cut and burnt, he was too weak to put up much resistance. The one with the moustache — Grouch — was still clothed, and armed with a handgun. He fought when we uncovered him, but gave it up after I disarmed him and broke his arm. We secured them with some cabling I found in the wreckage. While the bear hunted for some clothing, I hauled them both over to Sookie, along with a first aid kit I'd found reasonably intact.

"Digger passed?" Sookie asked quietly and I nodded.

Keeping the gun pointed at the prisoners, she wiped at her cheeks with her free hand. Ignoring the smell of her tears, I added the bound Weres to the other two bodies on the ground. Lanzo had been freed from the steel pinning his leg and cocooned in a silver chain. Thalia, who had gloves on now, was cable-tying the bloodbag. It seemed she'd come prepared.

A yell made us all look round. The bear, wearing a tattered pair of jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt, was crouched over Daisy.

"Oh no," Sookie said, paling. "She's hurt, Eric. Real bad. I'm sorry I didn't —"

"You did not sense it?"

"No," she moaned, looking miserable. "I can't read her a lick."

"Thalia," I said, gesturing for her to watch the prisoners before I sped over to the siblings. The bear arched his body protectively over his sister and snarled at me, his face feral. I growled at him until he backed down. "What happened?"

Reluctantly, he moved aside. A piece of steel about four inches wide had buried itself in Daisy's left side, below her ribs. Her hands were pressed around it, slick with her blood. Now I was close, I could smell that above everything else. Her breathing _was_ even, but it was too shallow. She was sweating, her lips pale and her heartbeat slow.

"It's deep," the bear said, his voice thick. "Probably hit her spleen."

Fuck.

I exploded the barn. I chose to protect Sookie who was further from the explosion. Not that I would do any different, but still. This was a result of my actions, however unintentional. I knelt in front of her as her brother cradled her head with one hand and stroked her hair with the other. Her eyes were clear.

"Take my blood," I offered. "I will pull it out."

"No," she said softly, careful not to breath too deep and jostle the steel.

"It's too risky," the bear agreed. "She could bleed out if we touch it. No way she can take your blood. She can't turn."

"I am fast, my blood is strong. There is a chance she will survive as human." The odds were maybe one in five, better than no chance at all.

"No death magic," she whispered, her voice firm. "The line … must not break."

Her line, the line linking her to ancestors. I sat back on my haunches and spoke to the bear. "She will die if we do nothing. Will the line continue then?"

A tear trickled down Daisy's face as the bear shook his head sadly. "No. No-one ready to take her place. Only my daughter. She's six. Too young, and she hasn't been prepared."

Fuck. Daisy, her grandmother, all the generations before them. All ended. A link with the past broken, and something rare gone from the world forever. My blood rebelled at the thought I might have inadvertently caused that.

I didn't have many options. Moving her was potentially fatal. It would be equally foolish to summon human rescuers here, where there was at least one death to cover up, maybe more after Thalia and I finished with our captives. I looked at the wound, estimated her blood loss and how long she would last like this.

"Hold still," I said. "There may be a way."

Stepping away to give them the illusion of privacy, I made a call.

…

Rory would come, but not at once. There were limits to fairy teleportation and we were too far away from Shreveport for that, apparently. She put Daisy's odds at fifty-fifty, even with her skill.

When I returned to the others, the bear was searching for some morphine in the first aid kit Sookie had brought over, along with some blankets scavenged from somewhere. Two of them were tucked carefully around Daisy and one was wrapped around Sookie's shoulders.

It smelt strongly of Were, and I let something of my distaste show in the curl of my lip.

"Thalia," Sookie said, with a crooked grin. "Said the sound of my teeth chattering was irritating her. Did this too." She stuck her arm out of the blanket. Her sleeve had been torn away and her wound was neatly bandaged. She pulled a face. "Course, she insisted on licking it first."

Thalia did not restrain her appetites unless she had to, but at least Sookie wasn't leaking more blood she could ill afford to lose. "And you allowed that?" I asked.

"Allowed might be generous. She didn't give me much choice, and I didn't want to … upset her, the mood she's in." She cast a dark look over to where Thalia was standing over the prisoners, and then nodded at Daisy. "How is she?"

"Not good." I knelt in front of the wounded woman. "A healer is coming. You must take my blood."

"No," she said, her face set.

"Enough to keep you alive. No more." I switched to her tongue. _"You will not turn. I give you my word, __Whiteflower.__"_

Her eyes widened, telling me the name I'd guessed was her true one.

I shrugged. It wasn't a hard guess from Daisy, and her grandmother had been fond of the flowers that were her namesake.

Some fire came into her eyes._ "You may regret it."_

"_Take my blood. I will not offer again."_

"Do it, sis," the bear encouraged gruffly.

She closed her eyes and nodded once, wearily.

I bit into my wrist, and held it over her face as the blood began to well from the punctures. She turned her head just enough to catch the slow, thick drips with her mouth. After her third swallow, I judged she'd had enough to keep her stable and pulled away. Her eyes were brighter when they opened again.

Things stirred in my blood.

Many things, pulling on me. Too many. I hissed and clutched at my head as bucking, heaving, violent swings of emotion churned my blood, confusing my senses. It was like being tied to a ship's mast in a storm.

Daisy wheezed a soft laugh. "_Clearspring gave you our blood I see, all those years ago. We are tied now."_

"_I am old," _I snapped, damping the fledgling connection with brute force. The world settled again. _"I can control it. And I will sever it as soon as I can."_

"_You should."_ She closed her eyes for a moment. "Sookie?"

Sookie came to kneel beside me. "Hey, Daisy. I'm here."

Daisy opened her eyes and said, "Where is Hector?"

Sookie straightened and looked uncertainly between Daisy's wound, just showing between the blankets, and the bear.

"Tell her," the bear said, his voice rumbling.

"I don't think that's such a great idea," Sookie said, her eyes pleading with him.

"She needs to know."

"I guess you know her best." She sighed wearily, and leaned down. "They, um, buried him nearby I think. I can read them again, find out where."

Ah. Hector was dead and Sookie did not want to be the bearer of bad news. I had no such qualms. "Thalia found graves. Higher up the valley."

"Brother," Daisy said, a command in her voice.

He shook his head. "No. I'm stayin' right here."

"Go," she insisted. "Find out if he is there."

Scowling, he did as he was told. Sookie took his place, slipping a fold of blanket under Daisy's head as a pillow and stroking her hair, as the bear had done.

Daisy gave me a significant look and said, _"Dead man. Why save me?"_

Ah. Daisy had sent her brother away so we could talk freely. Sookie was listening, but she couldn't understand what we were saying. I said, _"Clearspring once saved me. I owe her. You know this."_

"_I am not her." _She regarded me for a long moment. _"I felt it. Your power. Before the explosion."_

Ah. That. The knowledge of what I could now do gave Daisy something over me, if she chose to use it that way. I judged, on balance, that she would not.

I nodded slightly in confirmation.

"_Tell them I did it," _she said gravely. _"In payment for my life, and the lives I carry."_

I considered her offer. It would be good to have an explanation that didn't give away my gift to more people than was wise. Thalia had already given me a few looks, but she hadn't asked. Yet. Sookie had, and would do so again, knowing her. The fewer who knew, the better.

"_What about your brother? Will he believe you did this?"_

"_He will believe what I tell him."_

"_Then I accept."_

We lapsed into silence. Sookie looked between us, a puzzled expression on her face. After a minute she asked, "Eric, do you know what caused the explosion?"

There it was, that uncanny intuition of hers, almost as if she knew what we'd been talking about. I was relieved when Daisy answered her; I wasn't certain how Sookie would react to hearing I'd caused the carnage, even if my actions had won us the battle.

"Magic," Daisy said in English and pointed towards the barn with her chin. "The necklace."

"Oh. You heated the stones?" Daisy nodded, but Sookie frowned as if the explanation didn't quite make sense. She said slowly, "I guess it must have caught something alight. Maybe a fuel canister or something."

She turned to stare at the ruined barn just as the bear came into sight. He loped across the dirt and joined us.

"Hector is there, sis," he said quietly. "Jack too. Three more I don't recognise."

"Hector must be re-buried," Daisy said. "According to custom. See it done."

The bear shook his head in denial. "You'll do that. When you recover."

"If I live. If not, you must."

Scowling, he agreed.

"Make your peace with each other," I said, getting up. "Sookie, we should talk."

…

Thalia was toying with our vampire prisoner; I could hear his hisses and curses as we crossed the debris.

"What do you know about our captives?" I asked Sookie. The dirt was pitted and furrowed, and I caught her by the shoulder as she stumbled on the uneven ground.

"Thanks." She let me guide her, my hand on her elbow, and she waited until we were further from Daisy and her brother before she spoke again. "It's much worse than we thought, Eric."

"The taser."

"That too." She shivered, pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and sighed. "I don't know where to start."

I let go of her as we reached our destination. Thalia had used the first aid supplies to patch the Weres and the bloodbag up enough that they wouldn't expire before we'd finished with them. She'd found and lit a storm lantern too, probably so they could see what she was doing to the vampire. Fear would make them more pliable.

Sookie pursed her lips at the scene and I asked her quietly, "Are you up to this?"

Not quietly enough.

"How sweet," Lance said contemptuously. "Concern for a bloodbag."

He was the only prisoner not gagged, but Thalia remedied that at once with a hard punch to his face and a strip of filthy cloth.

"Did anything productive come out of his mouth?" I asked her.

"Not yet," she said, baring her fangs.

"It is a pity the telepath cannot read you," I said lightly, squatting beside him. "I would enjoy tearing out your tongue." Taking my time for the watching Weres and bloodbag, I pressed a finger into one of his chest wounds until he hissed. Then I wiped my hand on his shirt and patted his shoulder. "Get used to pain."

Thalia chuckled darkly. "Yes. He will know little else before I end him."

Sookie was not amused by our performance from the way she clenched her jaw, but she reserved her scowl for the two Weres lying on the ground. "Pete was right about those military rations back in Jackson. These boys are army. They killed Hector last summer and took over the murderin'."

"That fits," I said. When she looked askance, I explained. "Hector covered his tracks until then. Suddenly seeking publicity didn't make sense."

"So you reckoned someone else interfered." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "And you figured it was a vampire, didn't you?"

"It was." I gestured at Lance. Lanzo, or whoever the fuck he was. "We knew that."

"We? _I _only knew there was a vampire leaking photos to the press, not that he was directly involved," she said tartly. "And you know what else I didn't know? That Lance here—"

"Lanzo," Thalia interrupted, her eyes bright. "Lanzo van Specht."

"Oh, excuse me. Lanzo. Thank you, Thalia." Sookie gave her a polite smile, but the one she turned on me was not at all polite or one I enjoyed receiving. "As I was sayin', Lanzo here is working for de Castro."

"I see." I didn't like the hard glint in her eyes much either.

"Why, Eric. You aren't a bit surprised," she said mockingly. "But then, you already knew Lanzo here was Felipe's errand boy, didn't you?"

Ah. That was what had pissed her off. Thalia was watching us with amusement, but I ignored her.

"Yes," I said evenly.

"Hm-mm. Of course you did." Sookie counted on her fingers. "Shreveport, Jackson, Amarillo. You, Russell, and Stan. Silly me, not noticing that pattern. And you know what the cherry on the shit-tastic cake my night has turned into was?"

"No," I said cautiously. Her hands had gone to hips, never a good sign.

"See, Lanzo here was real pleased to see me. On account of his bonus, the one he was gonna get for ending you. And me too I guess, because Felipe has decided if he can't have me, no-one can. I would have appreciated some warning of that."

I said hotly, "I did not know Felipe—"

"Oh, don't worry," she said, waving a hand. "I'm used to y'all keeping things from the dumb human. Vampires first an' all. Par for the course, water under the bridge, yada, yada. But I must be as dumb as fence-post, Eric, because I just don't get it."

Her bitter tone flayed me to the bone, and I asked tersely, "Get what?"

"Why the hell you're here. You thought Lanzo here, a known _assassin,_ was working for Felipe. Felipe, who just made a damn good attempt at staking your ass in Louisville. Did you want to give him another shot? A sporting chance? Is that it?"

"No." I gave Lanzo a nasty smile. "But it had proved an excellent way to track him down, hasn't it?"

"Oh please. Like you planned on runnin' into him tonight. It's damn lucky you brought Thalia, and he sure gave her a run for her money. If you'd been on your own—"

"Yes, yes," I interrupted dismissively. Later I might enjoy that some of her anger was over the risk to my safety. Later, when I was less irked by the dressing down I was getting. "Be that as it may, we need to get to the bottom of this."

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Whatever."

Infuriating woman! No-one, but no-one, got under my skin like she did. I counted to ten and said through gritted teeth, "I take it Felipe hired the ex-military wolves as well as this Lanzo."

"Not ex. Current. Some kinda specialist team. And no, it wasn't Felipe at all. These boys are on loan to this guy." She nudged the bloodbag's leg with her sneaker. "Meet Lattesta's old boss, John Tabner."

It took me a second to place Lattesta. "He's FBI?" Fuck.

"Yep. On paper anyway," she said grimly. "In reality, he's working for some hush-hush agency that wants to control y'all."

Double fuck.

My mind racing, I began to pace as pieces slotted into place.

And slot they did. The strange behaviour of the FBI in Dallas: on one hand, hushing up Tooth 'n Claw's early murders to calm the situation; on the other, arresting the Chosen without the fanfare of publicity that would have soothed the situation far more effectively. The way no-one could explain to Stan why they'd gone back on the deal they'd made with Joseph.

We had assumed Joseph's treachery and FBI short-sightedness was to blame, but a black hat with another agenda working from within the bureau made just as much sense.

Shit. The FBI had been in Amarillo, giving Stan trouble. And at Shreveport PD, investigating the pastor's death. An FBI agent would have no difficulty getting his hands on those crime scene photos, that must be how Lanzo got hold of them.

And the military were involved too. If this went high enough…

The subtle media campaign aimed at fostering anti-shifter sentiment. Bartlett and I had assumed it was vampire-led, but why not a human source? And if that was this covert agency's doing, it meant their agenda was forcing a change in the laws.

Fuck. We could all be in trouble.

"Why didn't we see it?" I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

"I knew I was missing something," Sookie said apologetically. "Liz even told me the FBI interfered with the cops investigating Gary's death."

"Gary?"

"Brandy's dad. He, uh—"

I connected the dots as she hesitated: the widow's brother, Carter's brother-in-law. "Ah. The wolf caught on camera."

"Yeah. He was dosed to the eyeballs with painkillers, in no condition to attack anyone. He was set up. As it happens, by this piece of shit." She prodded the FBI agent harder with her foot. "He had a mole in the Fellowship, handed Gary over to them on a silver plate."

"He has spies in the Fellowship too?" This was bad.

"Yep. And he had his agents make sure the cops didn't look into it too hard. I should have realised something fishy was going on when Liz told me that. She even said it was the same agents who covered up the house fire in the first place, blamed it on faulty wiring."

"Really." I gave her a long look. "You did not tell me any of this. We are meant to be working together. You have been holding out on me, Sookie."

"I know, I know. I got caught up in—" She blinked, narrowed her eyes and poked a finger at my chest. "Wait a goddamn minute, buster. What did you mean, _we _should have seen it? I didn't tell you what Liz said. How could you have known?"

Oops. "The FBI agents in Dallas have been acting erratically."

"And you didn't think to mention that?"

"I did not know it was relevant, woman! Besides, it was Stan's business."

Her face darkened and I kicked myself as I realised I'd just implied I put vampires above her. Again.

"Yeah? Well, what I knew was Liz's private business. And I'm not the only one who's been holding out here, am I? I just knew you weren't keeping us in the loop." She had her hands on her hips again. "Spill, buster. How were the Feds 'acting erratically'?"

I rubbed my forehead. "Fine. Joseph made a deal with the FBI, but—"

"Joseph? Holy shit." She turned back to the captives and waved at the bloodbag. "This is our third man, the one who met with Joseph and Lance. I mean Lanzo."

Fuck me. "This is him?"

Thalia cackled darkly and we both turned on her and snapped, "What?"

Still cackling, she pointed between us. "She's right," Sookie said quietly. "We had all the pieces. If you'd just shared everything you knew—"

"Me? Woman, you held just as much back!"

"Hold it right there, buddy!" She poked her finger into my chest. "Where the hell do you get off—"

She broke off as Thalia's cackling got louder. The diminutive Greek bent over, shaking with laughter and slapped her injured thigh. When she flinched and swore, I laughed. Her head whipped up and the look she gave me would have frightened a lesser vampire.

The bear chose that moment to call my name.

Sookie glared at me too. "Daisy's hurtin'. Go check on her."

"Why? Afraid I'm winning the argument?" I said and smirked at her, just because I knew it would exasperate her.

"No," she snapped. "But if you stay here another second, Eric Northman, I'm gonna find a place for that stake of Thalia's that you won't like one bit!"

Thalia gave me a smile no vampire wanted to see, and when she held the stake out to Sookie, I began to regret laughing at her. "Here, telepath," she said. "Pam told me he gave you permission to nail his ass any time."

"Et tu, Thalia?" I murmured and turned on my heel to beat a dignified retreat. It was never wise to stick around when two angry women banded together.

…

The bear didn't look too concerned about his sister. The fire he'd lit was keeping Daisy warm, and when I knelt beside her and disturbed the blankets to check her side, I found she hadn't lost much more blood. He'd packed the wound with gauze, and it was holding.

"How is it?" I asked roughly, still pissed. I could hear Sookie telling Thalia what a high-handed jerk I was.

"Painful," Daisy said wryly. She was smiling.

"Especially when she laughs," the bear said, grinning too. "Thought your ass was grass there, Northman. You two are as bad as me and my ex-wife."

They were both amused at my expense. Wonderful.

"Fight like coyotes over a bone," Daisy said, wheezing softly with laughter. She winced, and stopped.

"Always that way between you?" the bear asked curiously.

"Sometimes worse," I admitted, putting the blankets back.

It was the truth. The fight at Sanctum had been far more bruising than this one. Half smiling to myself, I glanced at Sookie, who was pacing, gesturing sharply as she said something I couldn't quite hear to Thalia. She was pale, and shivering again. She'd lost too much blood.

"How was she injured?" I asked, sitting back on my heels.

The bear looked over too, his smile fading. "The vamp wanted to fake her death, get paid twice over."

"Twice?"

"Yeah. From de Castro for her death, and the Fed for her life. The Fed was gonna take her, once he knew what she could do. Shook her up."

"It would." Sookie feared that above all, a life of being used, of being controlled. I understood that after Ocella. I gestured at the farmhouse. "Go find her some food. And something to drink. I will stay with your sister."

"Sure." He chuckled as he got to his feet. "Sweeten her up with something sweet, eh? Used to try that on my ex too."

"Did it work?"

"Once in a blue moon."

…

The bear brought Sookie food and a mug of something steaming. Hot chocolate, by the smell that reached me. Thalia fetched her a battered chair to sit on while she ate. I intended to give it five minutes and approach her again, but my phone rang first.

"Is it safe?" Rory's voice asked briskly. "Are you near the patient?"

"Yes and yes."

There was a pop and she appeared beside me. The bear, who was talking to Sookie, started, his eyes widening, and Sookie turned to look. Rory, who was carrying a holdall and wearing pale green surgical scrubs, gave a low whistle at the destruction and gave me a sharp look. Then she caught sight of Sookie, grinned at me and commented in Romanian:_"You never do anything by halves, do you, brother? Showing off, were you?"_

"No," I said shortly. Folding my arms, I nodded to Daisy who was eyeing Rory with frank curiosity. "Your patient."

Rory dropped the holdall and got down to business. Returning Daisy's curiosity with interest, she knelt beside her and said, "Interesting aura. You're a rarity, aren't you?"

The bear ambled over as Daisy narrowed her eyes and replied, "And you are fae."

"Why so surprised?" Rory flicked her eyes to Sookie, who had turned away. "Eric is no stranger to diversity."

When she reached for the blankets, Daisy stiffened and warned, "I have dealings with Brigant."

Rory raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't have told me that. The Brigants are no friends of mine."

The bear stepped forward as if to interfere, and Daisy gritted out harshly, "Are you Water fae?"

"No. Neither am I of the Sky."

Strangely, that admission was all it took for Daisy to relax and wave the bear's concerns aside. He knelt at her head as Rory stripped off the blankets and examined the wound. She rattled off a round of questions about when Daisy had last eaten, and how much magic she'd done. Daisy said something about tapping into the earth to help a shapeshifter bound in silver. Digger, I realised.

"That complicates things," Rory said. She looked over her shoulder at me. "The attempt left her drained. I will need your blood."

I did not want to strengthen the tie between me and the spirit-keeper. "I already gave her some."

"Travelling here cost me. This will not be possible without extra energy and you are the nearest, strongest source. Do you want her healed or not?"

I looked towards the prisoners and grimaced. There was no way Thalia would agree to donate in my place. "Very well."

"You," she said to the bear. "Hold her down. This will hurt."

He nodded grimly.

I asked, "What would you have me do?"

She snapped her fingers and pointed to the dirt behind Daisy. "Sit there. I need you to pull out the steel, smoothly and swiftly. Then flood the wound with your blood as soon as it is out. Can you do that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Did you forget how fast I can move?"

She smiled for the first time since she appeared. "No. But this requires a steady hand too. Here." She fished a vial of her tonic out of a hip pocket and thrust it into my hand. She gave me a stern look. "I will need this when it is done. At once."

"Of course." I slipped it carefully into my pocket, and grasped the steel.

Rory pulled the gauze out of the way and put her hands on either side of metal. I felt the stirrings of her power through our blood tie. She nodded at the bear, and once he'd tightened his grip on Daisy's shoulders she commanded, "Now, Eric."

The metal withdrew cleanly, with a wet sucking noise and a gobbet of blood. Daisy cried out hoarsely as Rory thrust her hands straight into the wound. Ripping my wrist open, I added my thick blood to the mix, braced for a rush of emotion from the injured woman that never came.

Daisy arched once and passed out, which was probably best for both of us.

Rory pulled her bloodied hands slowly from the wound, healing as she went. When it was done, a scant minute later, she was pale and breathing fast. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the ground, limp. Cursing, I snatched the tonic from my pocket, gathered her up and poured it into her mouth, massaging her throat until she swallowed. Some colour returned to her cheeks and with a splutter and a cough, she lifted her head.

"How is she?" she demanded of the bear, who was cradling his sister in his arms much as I was cradling mine.

"She's breathing easier," he said, staring down at Daisy in wonder. He looked up at me. "I owe you, Northman. Our people, too."

…

There was a hose by the house. The bear and I carried our sisters to it, so they could rinse away the blood and gore. Both were weak, but Rory was on her feet and ushering the others into the house when I left them. I had to see to the small matter of an interrogation.

"Daisy okay?" Sookie asked when I stepped into the light cast by the lantern.

"Weak, but recovering." I nodded at the prisoners. "We should finish this."

"Yeah." Sookie tapped her empty mug with her fingernails. "Pete said this was your idea."

So the bear had ratted me out. Typical. "It was."

"Thanks." She cast a look towards the house and scuffed the dirt with her shoe. "Sorry for losing my temper earlier."

Perhaps the bear had done me a favour. "It has been a trying night," I said diplomatically.

"Amen to that." She stood and stretched. "I'm ready to dig up some secrets when you are."

I moved her chair over to the FBI man, and gestured for her to sit. She pulled the blanket around her as she did and I squatted on the other side of him. "Gag on or off?"

"On," she said, grimly. "His mind is enough, believe me. You ask the questions, I'll get the answers."

But the FBI man proved a tough nut to crack. Sookie shook her head after a few minutes. "Damn it. He's just thinking the same thing over and over. Some regulation or other."

"Not for long." I leaned forward to catch his eye. Nothing happened except his eyes crinkled. He was amused, I realised after a moment. It was not easy to read his face with the gag obscuring half of it.

"That won't work. He's protected," Sookie said. She squinted over at the Weres. "Grouch over there is a witch as well as a Were. He gave him something." She grinned suddenly. "Got it. It's round his neck."

Ah. Tearing open Tabner's shirt I found a silver chain, hung with a talisman of some kind. Tabner didn't look so amused when I tore a piece of cloth from his coat to protect my hand, snapped the chain and tossed the talisman aside.

Sookie leaned forward, focusing on Tabner as I caught his eye again. Then she gasped and reached over him to clutch my arm. "Stop!"

Enjoying the contact, I stilled and asked calmly, "What did you hear?"

"You can't glamour him. He'll know you've done it."

"The FBI have a way to detect glamour." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she said, eye narrowing as she looked at me. "Some sort of brain scan, an MRI or something. It's cumbersome, but they're trying to refine it, come up with a field test. How did you know?"

"There have been rumours." I eyed the once-again smug human lying in the dirt, and smiled menacingly at him. "It does not matter. I will glamour him and after we have his secrets, I will kill him."

She stiffened and her hand fell from my arm. "Eric... I don't know I approve of that."

"He knows what you can do, Sookie," I reminded her quietly, looking her in the eye.

"I know," she said, closing her eyes. "But you can't just kill him."

"You would trade your freedom for your Christian principles?" I asked evenly.

"No. But I don't want his blood on my hands. There must be another way."

"Either I glamour it from him or I kill him. There is no other way."

"Eric, I don't —" She looked down at the man between us and groaned. "Son of a bitch! You can't kill him either. He makes notes of what he's investigating. Where he's going, who he's meeting. Mails them to himself. If he dies or disappears, his bosses will investigate and work out it was you."

"How? Did he know I would be here tonight?"

"No, but he knew the Weres had Daisy and Pete. He has someone watching Liz's house. I was seen there with them. So were you. He has our descriptions." Her hands clenched. "He's FBI, Eric. And his bosses, if they connect you to his death…"

She didn't have to spell out how dire the consequences of that would be. Fuck. I cursed softly in Norse.

"We need some black ops specialist of our own," she muttered, glaring at the Weres again.

"That would be handy." I ran my hand through my hair. This was turning into a clusterfuck. "Someone to make him disappear for us."

"Wait … Daisy made Lattesta forget me."

"She will not be up to that any time soon," I said slowly. "But there are other witches."

"Got any on speed dial?" she joked.

"No." I took out my phone and smiled at her. "But I know a king or two."

"Stan?" she asked.

"It _is_ his state. And forensics being the pain in the ass it is, we could do with some assistance tidying that up." I waved at the barn as I typed Stan's private number one-handed and put the phone to my ear as it started to ring.

…

Two hours later the situation was much improved. We had questioned the Weres first. Sookie viewed the one with the moustache more favourably than Tabner, or at least her face didn't contort with outright disgust while she read his mind. It did when we got to the FBI man.

Between my glamour and Sookie's telepathy, we extracted the most pertinent details from Tabner, sure that it would not come back to bite either of us in the ass. Stan did indeed know a witch or two who he thought could wipe his mind in an undetectable way.

There was also a team of Texan vampires and Weres on their way to wipe the scene of our crimes against a Federal agent.

With explosives and fire. There would be not a shred of evidence left, Stan assured me.

There wasn't a shred of Sookie left in Tabner's mind either. I'd made sure of that after our interrogation, once Sookie was out of his sight. She was currently inside the farmhouse with the others, taking shelter from the cold.

We had the names of two Generals and three Senators involved in the plot, and some details of the agency he worked for, which was a good start. Stan planned for Tabner and the Weres to enjoy a few days of Texan hospitality so he could find out more: what their end-game was, what laws they were pushing the government to pass against the Two-Natured, and what they had in mind for us too. With a telepath of his own, Stan was confident he'd turn up enough dirt on the agent to control him and his puppet-masters that way.

That was the thing with black-hats. Much like us, they worked best in the dark and would do anything to avoid exposure to the light of day.

Stan and I were both agreed that this level of organisation against supes was bigger than our alliance and had to be taken to the Amun council as soon as possible. Not to mention the existence of the taser weapons and solid confirmation that the FBI could detect glamour, albeit only that it had been used, not who had used it or what memories and been taken.

All, however, extremely worrisome developments. The council would not be pleased.

I had also called Elaine Randall and, with Stan's reluctant permission, she was on her way to Texas. Maybe Sookie's accusations about keeping her in the dark had hit close to the bone and I was going soft, but it did make sense to involve the Caucus early when this latest threat was focused on the shapeshifters.

If it was also a calculated move on our part that meant the Caucus would owe us for stopping the killings and exposing the deeper plot behind them...

Well, we _were _vampires. What did they expect?

Thalia grumbled as we readied the prisoners for the Texans, eager get back to Lanzo. I had decided to leave him to her tender mercies as Sookie couldn't read his mind and he was unlikely to talk. Voluntarily, anyway.

The cavalry arrived just as Thalia and I deposited the Weres and Tabner in their own van. Sookie said using it would be poetic justice, and I understood once I saw the inside. It still smelt faintly of her, and her fear, and I was rough with Tabner in consequence.

I strode over to direct the team Stan had sent. We had three hours until dawn, and a lot to cover up.


	46. You Think You Know Someone

Annnd I'm back. Finally!

Have I written to the end of this like I wanted? Have I heck. But I have couple of chapters in hand and I'll post every Friday until those run out while I write like a demon on the rest.

Thank you for the reviews. And a big thank you for nominating my stories in the **You Want Blood Awards**. Padfoot has done us all proud again and the first round of voting is open until 30th Setember. So go check out the nominations, there's lots of great stories to choose from.

Now, without further ado, Chapter 46.

* * *

**You Think You Know Someone**

* * *

Flicking his hand in a sharp and impatient gesture, Eric strode away from the female vampire who had clearly attracted his displeasure. Watching from the farmhouse, I smiled wryly to myself. Challenging Eric's authority after the night he'd had wasn't the wisest thing to do and I could just imagine his scathing dismissal.

Eric had taken command of the clean-up team Stan had sent as soon as they arrived and tasked them with destroying any speck of evidence that might lead Tabner's cronies to us, whether those cronies were official FBI ones or sketchy black-ops agents. Consequently tonight's cover-up operation was a mite more complicated than pouring gasoline over the mess Callisto made of that ill-fated orgy in Bon Temps, let me tell you. Three Texan werewolves were currently setting explosives in the remains of the steel workshop and there were plans to blow the propane tank behind the farmhouse too, raise the whole place to the ground.

Admirably thorough and I approved whole-heartedly as I watched from the sidelines. From the sidelines and in the dark – the night was moonless and I hadn't turned on the light when I wandered in here, fully intending to pass out on a couch.

One peek outside and I'd gotten hooked on the Eric Northman Show. It was a rare opportunity. Vampires usually watched me from the shadows, not the other way round.

Somewhere a floorboard creaked softly, a comforting reminder of another old farmhouse that settled and breathed at night. Leaning against the windowsill, I let out a sigh of my own. I was bone-tired, but I couldn't drag myself away. Eric was in his element out there, large and in charge. As he moved across the packed dirt, I tugged the drapes apart to keep him in sight. He looked to be barking orders at the hapless wolves. The dim lights they'd set up to work by caught his hair as he spoke and it flashed pale in the darkness.

Just as it had when he descended from the hills to snap Chico's neck, like some decidedly ungodly Angel of Death.

Then, that flash of blond sent my heart leaping. Now, I wondered if that surge of hope was entirely due to the prospect of rescue or if it owed more to the identity of my rescuer. Eric had an unsettling ability to call forth the strongest reactions from me, but what this particular one meant I couldn't say for sure. The painkillers I'd taken had dulled more than the throbbing in my arm and I wasn't up to delicate emotional calculations.

A floorboard creaked behind me, out of step with the settling house. I had company.

Rory, her mind slippery and impenetrable. She joined me at the window, tilting her head to peer between the drapes, and I felt unreasonably annoyed by the intrusion. Her hair was damp and she'd exchanged her bloodied scrubs for clean jeans and a dark sweater. She smiled fondly, her eyes on the vampire of the moment as she said: "Eric was born to lead."

The pride in her voice ruffled my feathers further, but I kept my reply even. "He was happy being sheriff, once upon a time."

"That makes him a better king, don't you think? Those who seek power are never worthy of it, as Plato said."

If name-dropping Greek philosophers was a dig at my lack of education, I was too exhausted to rise to it. "How's Daisy?" I asked, letting the drapes fall shut. Pete was tending to his sister in the kitchen.

"She needs rest." Rory tutted disapprovingly. "She should never have attempted that incantation tonight; it drained her dry."

According to Rory, summoning enough magical oomph for Digger to shift under a new moon was too much for any human witch, even one as powerful as Daisy.

Digger. What a waste.

I sighed softly, mourning the big wolf's passing all over again. I had liked him and poor Brandy was going to miss her godfather something awful. At least Thalia had eased his passing; Digger had been grateful for that small mercy at the end. I'd picked that up from his fading consciousness, his mind darkening as he lay in his own cooling blood, his body swimming with pain as Thalia's hands closed firmly around his neck.

A chill ran down my spine and I rubbed at my arms, chasing away goose-flesh erupting in the wake of my morbid thoughts. Staying in contact with a mind on the brink of death wasn't the wisest thing to do.

"There's hot chocolate on the stove," Rory said over her shoulder, already halfway across the room. "Come get some."

Lord knew I was dead on my feet, but I resented her bossy tone and followed her somewhat grudgingly. The front door clattered open and quick footsteps brought Eric into the kitchen just as I reached it. He glanced at Daisy and then at me, but I went to the stove and busied myself filling a cup.

"The wolves brought a spare vehicle," he announced to the room, holding up a set of car keys. "You should leave. I will stay to supervise."

Rory took the keys from him and asked, "Where will you spend the day?"

Eric shrugged. "With Stan's people."

"Is that wise, after the attempt on you at the summit?" She was frowning and as pale as a vamp under the fluorescent lights, her freckles showing dark through near-translucent skin.

Eric raised an eyebrow, a milder reaction to her questioning his decisions than I expected. "I may go to ground with Thalia. She is staying here to finish some, ah, business."

That would be taking her pound of flesh from Lanzo, the assassin who'd killed her child. Literally, knowing Thalia. I shivered again and wrapped my hands around the cup of chocolate, holding it close.

"Thalia can't protect you in the day," Rory said, her frowning deepening. "I can. You will be safer with me."

Eric looked like he was going to argue for a moment. "Fine," he said irritably, turning to go. "I will find you before dawn."

"Wait," I blurted out, taking a step forwards but faltering when that penetrating blue gaze focused on me. I cleared my throat. "Digger. He deserves a decent burial. Jack too."

"That is in hand," Eric said without missing a beat. "Their bodies will be returned to Houston, to their people." He looked at Daisy. "And Hector to his."

Pete squeezed Daisy's shoulder and said gruffly, "We won't forget this, Northman."

Eric gave them a curt nod and left.

"Wait here while I check this vehicle out," Rory ordered the room, grabbing her hold-all, and I pursed my lips as I watched her scuttle after him. That was an excuse to speak to him alone if I ever heard one.

Daisy chuckled softly, interrupting my train of thought. "Someone," she said nudging Pete, "must have brought a silver bowl. Northman has already severed the tie between us."

"He has?" I asked, surprised she could tell. But then I remembered Eric clutching his head after she took his blood. "It disagreed with him, didn't it?"

"Yes." Daisy tapped her chest significantly. "Too many pulling on him. Not many can bear this weight."

Oh. That figured. Having Eric, his Maker and Alexei 'pulling' on me had been unpleasant enough; Daisy had a whole horde of ancestors hitching a ride with her.

"Not too much for you though," Pete said, giving his sister a proud look. _She's irreplaceable. Unique. Thank fuck Northman understood what we'd lose if she died._

…

Rory drove. Daisy stretched out in back, her head on Pete's lap. I rode shotgun, staring blindly at the scrub sliding past, dark and desolate like my mood.

It had been a helluva long night. Good men had been killed. Bad men had been if not actually tortured to death in front of me, certainly brutalised and beaten to within an inch of it.

Thalia and Eric had slipped so naturally into that bad-cop, even-worse-cop routine of theirs. I hadn't enjoyed witnessing that one bit, particularly when Eric jabbed his fingers into Lanzo's wounds. That had taken me right back to that shack in Arkansas and my own double act of fairy tormentors. Worse, Eric's face had been turned away from me and my imagination, bitch that it was, had painted it with a combination of Neave's cruelty and Lochlan's naked hunger.

The image had shaken me badly. I _knew_ we had to crack Tabner. I _knew_ Eric wasn't inflicting pain for kicks, that his actions had a higher purpose. My head _knew _that, but my heart skipped the memo, and anguish at the parallels my subconscious had drawn had added an extra dose of venom to our argument.

My diatribe about Eric's high-handedness had amused Thalia no end, but I regretted it as soon as she made a pointed comment about how calm Rory was — a comment that shamed me into making an apology.

Not that I was letting Eric off the hook for withholding crucial information, far from it, but Thalia had a point. It hadn't been the time or place to tear strips off him.

Neither Daisy and Rory had needed to be told that. Eyeing their ghostly reflections in the window beside me, I envied them their self-control.

Daisy had held it together with a sheet of steel embedded in her side, for heaven's sake. Even when she learned that Hector, the man she loved, was dead. Rory had arrived at a scene straight out of Dante, torn-up dirt strewn with blood and molten steel, death and destruction all around, and she'd calmly knuckled down to treating her patient. She didn't pepper Eric with questions, didn't argue, didn't baulk. She even handled Daisy and Pete's mistrust without rancour or complaint.

My doubts that she was what she claimed to be were way off base too. She popped in, exactly like a fairy.

A fairy who'd had Eric's blood.

I shifted in my seat, turning completely towards the window. Eric said he would find her before dawn, I hadn't missed that. Nor had I missed how carefully he'd cradled her when she collapsed, how swiftly he carried her to the hose, how gently he'd washed her clean of blood.

No, that damn irrational jealousy slithering darkly in my guts hadn't let me miss a lick of that.

If Rory and Eric's closeness was hard to witness, his interactions with Daisy left me perplexed. He'd treated her as a means to an ends while we were investigating the murders, nothing more. Yet tonight he'd given her his blood, something he did rarely and never lightly.

Or so I'd thought. Maybe I wasn't so special in that regard after all.

Sure, he hadn't let Daisy drink directly from his wrist, but my ego rated that small consolation when he'd been so insistent she take his blood. Almost as if he was honour-bound to save her. But why? For what Daisy's grandmother had meant to him, for an old flame's sake?

I highly doubted that. Eric had never struck me as the sentimental type. There was something between Daisy and him though, something I didn't understand. That conversation they'd had in her mother tongue didn't sit right with me. It sounded like a deal was being struck, but over what? A debt?

Perhaps Eric felt indebted to her for the explosion that saved all our asses, his included.

But something was fishy there too. When I listened to Stan's wolves, checking they meant us no harm, one of them was puzzling over the explosion. Particularly the absence of any chemical that could generate enough force to tear that steel workshop apart.

I'd caught Pete wondering about it too. He'd never seen Daisy heat that necklace of hers when it was so far away from her. So if it wasn't Daisy's necklace that triggered the explosion, what was it? Some magic she didn't want to reveal?

Whatever it was, we wouldn't be here without it. That had to be why Eric intervened to save her. Unless Pete had the right of it and it _was_ because Daisy was irreplaceable.

The last of her line. A rarity. Unique.

Oh hell. That stung, too close to how I'd first caught Eric's attention. Was I just the latest in a line of women whose rare supernatural talents pricked his interest? It sure looked like he had a taste for those, didn't it? The more I chewed it over, the more sure I was that that was it. He'd intervened because Daisy was unique.

But with an eye to earning himself a favour too, of course.

A purely altruistic act didn't square with the Eric I knew, the one who always put himself and his retinue first. And I should know him pretty darn well after our time together, our decidedly intimate time.

But did I? We hadn't been together long, not in terms of Eric's age, and he was a complicated guy who, like all vampires, kept his cards close to his chest. Oh, it wasn't as if he'd deliberately hidden his true nature from me the way Bill did to further his 'mission'. It was just that there was more to Eric than showed on the surface, that he was…

Bigger than I'd let myself see. I didn't like what that said about me, that I'd been in love with him and never really opened my eyes to who he was.

With an impatient noise, I straightened up in my seat. There were lights ahead, a town. Ugh. Too many mysteries with Eric at the heart of them, and I'd wasted the drive thinking about those instead of the information I'd fished out of Tabner's head.

Information I hadn't fully shared with Eric, information I'd kept to myself so I could decide what to do with it for the best. Eric wasn't the only one who could be high-handed.

…

"I could use your help," Rory said as we pulled up at a motel that had seen better days.

"Sure," I said, "anything to speed up my over-due rendezvous with a bed."

I scrambled out of the car, setting the untouched bucket of chicken I'd had on my lap on the seat. Pete had already wolfed half of his — or should that be beared? — and Daisy, who wasn't allowed solid food just yet, was sipping tentatively at a coke.

Rory had stopped at a drive-thru, the only one open this late, where she'd asked for directions to a motel that took cash. None of us wanted to leave a paper trail, not with the FBI potentially on our tails. We'd pooled our funds such as they were, Rory apologising that she'd left Shreveport in a hurry and only had a few bucks on her. Fortunately, the motel was real cheap and we had enough to cover two rooms.

The middle-aged man behind the counter wasn't a bit fazed by dishevelled guests arriving in the early hours sans luggage and eager to pay cash. But most of his capacity for rational thought went out the window once Rory turned on the charm.

I should ask her for lessons, I thought sourly.

The man, Todd according to his name-tag, was balding and dough-faced, and couldn't take his eyes off her. Tripped over his words, fumbled his pen. Took me right back to Merlotte's and the regulars hanging on Claudine's every word. I got a little misty-eyed at that, exhaustion amplifying my emotions as Todd answered all Rory's not-so-subtle questions about room layouts, where the exits and windows were and such.

Like most low-rent motels, this one had a few light-tight rooms fitted with steel window shutters. Shutters that kept out the sun, but were real obvious. Older vamps wouldn't be caught dead in those rooms, knowing full well what a bad idea it was to advertise their presence, and after a couple of high-profile attacks even naïve newborns began avoiding them like the plague. These days shuttered rooms were occupied by folks willing to pay extra for the privacy they gave, night or day. Mostly married people having affairs and the like.

Or, as I picked out of Todd's head, drug dealers and pimps. Geez, this place was classy.

Once motel owners cottoned on that vamps wouldn't pay through the nose to be sitting ducks, they'd come up with more discreet accommodation for their sun-intolerant customers. In a cheap place like this, that meant some regular rooms had beds with flimsy light-tight compartments built into the bases. Less sturdy than coffins and a tight fit for someone Eric's size, but also far less likely to attract unwanted attention. Especially if a breathing companion occupied the room as cover.

Needless to say, Rory asked for two of those once she'd satisfied herself on the particulars and Todd didn't blink once at the obviously fake names she gave him. When he turned away to get our keys, she nudged me and pointed at his back with her chin, whispering, "No ill intent towards those of the non-breathing persuasion?"

I shook my head. "And he thinks the sun shines out of your rear, so we're good."

"Thank the Realm," she said under her breath, sagging against the desk. "I'm weak as a kitten. Lucky I can count on you, eh?" Before I could ask what she meant, Todd came back and she straightened up, smiling sweetly at him as he handed her the keys. "Thank you, Todd. You're a star."

"Y-you're welcome." He flushed and beamed at her, pleased as punch that she'd used his name. "Have a nice day, er, I mean night, ma'am."

…

I wasn't real happy to be sharing a room with Rory, but she was kind enough to lend me a t-shirt and she was taller than me so it made for reasonably modest sleepwear. We didn't speak much as we took turns in the bathroom. The shower was hot and I pretended not to see the stains on the tiles. When I came out, Rory was sitting cross-legged on the nearest bed, the bucket of chicken in her lap and a half-gnawed drumstick in her hand. The TV was on real low, the remote and her phone beside her on the quilt.

"Want some?" she offered, waving the bucket in my direction. She'd made quite a dent in it.

I shook my head, yawning. "What I want is sleep."

"Not much left anyway." Grimacing, she dropped the drumstick in the bucket and got up to dump the lot in the trash. "That healing really took it out of me."

Guess Daisy wasn't the only one who'd over-reached herself. Remembering how Rory had stood barefoot on the lawn back home I asked, "You can't do that recharging thing?"

"Not inside a building. Fried chicken and shut-eye will have to do for now. Speaking of which…" She got into bed and curled up.

I got acquainted with my pillows too, and that was the last I knew until a brisk knock dragged me half-awake.

There was a void outside. Eric.

I staggered out of bed, but Rory beat me to the door and opened it. The sky was greying to the east and Eric was still in the singed jeans and t-shirt he'd worn earlier. His hair was a mess too; he must've flown.

"Cutting it fine, aren't you?" Rory sounded far too perky for the scant hour of sleep we'd had.

"This was the best you could do?" Eric shot back as he stepped past her, curling his lip at the room. He stilled when he saw me.

Rory pointed back outside. "There's a dusty hillside with your name on it if you'd rather."

"This will suffice," he murmured, his eyes lingering on me as she closed the door.

The cold air had raised more than goosebumps on my arms and his eyes flicked unmistakeably to my chest. I was suddenly very aware that all I had on was a thin layer of cotton and that he looked distinctly pale. A familiar heat was building in his eyes and that traitorous slithering beast whispered gleefully in my ear:

_He's not looking at Rory like he wants to eat her, is he?_

A second door clicked shut. Rory had vanished into the bathroom. We were alone.

"What a lovely sight to take to my rest," Eric practically purred. His fangs down, he took a single step towards me with all the lithe grace of a predator. Shit. I was the gazelle and he was one very hungry lion.

Still sleep-befuddled, I stepped back.

A mistake, a dumb one when I knew what the thrill of a chase did to him.

Eric, his eyes glowing with lust, stepped forward. I retreated again, but he matched me step for step in a silent stalking dance that ended when the back of my calves hit the bed. He leaned slowly towards me.

I couldn't look away or stop the furious patter of my heart.

Once his lips were within a whisker of mine, he smirked and the son of a bitch changed tack, twisting to the side to look past me at the bed. "Am I to die beneath you for the day?" he said in voice deep enough to do his leering for him. "How _delightful_."

As my scrambled brain searched desperately for a sharp retort, Rory came out of the bathroom. Faster than an eye-blink, Eric put some distance between us and I breathed a little easier.

"You're in the tub," she informed him.

"Not one of the beds?" he asked, hands in his pockets, all nonchalance now.

"Don't complain," she said, rolling her eyes. "I put a pillow and a blanket in there. You'll be comfortable enough."

"I will be dead, woman, I will not care. Why the tub?"

"Last place anyone will look and it's better protected. There's no window in there, only an air vent and I've blocked that. And I can do this."

She turned her back to us, did something I couldn't see, then raised a hand and traced two fingertips over the closed bathroom door at shoulder height. They left a dark, glistening trail. As she marked out a complicated design of twisting lines, drips formed and rolled slowly down the surface, the rest of the liquid soaking oddly into the wood. Something caught the light as she moved: a dagger, held loosely in her other hand, down at her side.

She was finger-painting with her own blood.

"There goes the room deposit," I joked weakly. Neither of them laughed.

"Blood wards," Eric said, folding his arms. It was not quite a question.

"Crude but effective," Rory replied as if it was, tilting her head to inspect her bloody handiwork. "Best I can do tonight, but it'll last the day."

"Short on mojo?" he asked lightly.

"Uh-huh. We can use the bathroom next door." She winked at him over her shoulder. "But don't worry. One of us will stay here, ready to rush to your side if there's an attack. Right, Sookie?"

"Oh sure," I muttered and for some reason that amused the heck out of Eric, who began to laugh quietly.

I glared at him, but no amount of scowling or threats about sharpening a stake could shut him up. Rory ignored us both, daubing more of her blood around the window and on the inside of the outer door. "There," she said in a satisfied tone when she was finished. "You're as safe as I can make you."

"Thank you," Eric said, bowing to her with a flourish. Then he disappeared into the bathroom, still chuckling.

Just what in the Sam Hill was so goddamn funny?

Rory sucked her fingers clean of blood and wiped off her dagger. The sky was lightening properly as she settled herself in a chair and said: "You sleep and I'll watch."

…

Daylight, weak and grey, shone around the thin drapes when Rory woke me. I sat up and groaned. My arm, the one Lanzo had slashed, was sore and stiff and my bladder was clamouring about an imminent overflow of hot chocolate.

"Be a love and fetch breakfast while you're next door," Rory said, holding out a pile of clothes.

"Huh?" I said as I took them. I was never at my best just woken.

"Breakfast," she said with exaggerated patience. "Pete has it. I called down to my new friend Todd and had him order in for us. I could eat a horse."

She wasn't the only one.

Mumbling an agreement, I tugged on yesterday's stale jeans before I remembered to check them over. They were grubby, but miraculously free of blood. Unlike my blouse, which was beyond saving. Forgoing a bra for now, I pulled on the pale green sweater Rory was apparently lending me, grateful for the warmth even if the sleeves were too long.

"Is the coast clear out there?" she asked, standing ready at the door. The symbol she'd drawn on it still glistened wetly.

Slipping on my shoes, I took a moment to sweep the area outside mentally. "All quiet. No-one around."

"Knock twice when you come back." She tapped the symbol quickly in three places and an iridescent shine rippled across it before she opened the door.

I stepped out into daylight, blinking. The sky was blanketed in clouds, but it was about midday from the shadows. My back prickled as the door shut firmly behind me, so I reckoned Rory had reactivated the blood ward already.

She was taking Eric's safety pretty seriously, wasn't she?

When Pete opened their door, I pushed straight past him. "Bathroom break," I threw over my shoulder, high-tailing it in there.

I came out a while later, bladder emptied, face washed and teeth given a vigorous rub with my finger in lieu of a toothbrush. Daisy was in bed, propped up on a pile of pillows, but with colour in her cheeks I was pleased to see. Pete was over by the table. With coffee.

"My hero," I said, taking the cup he held out to me.

"Guess your bathroom is occupied," he said and I nodded between gulps.

"You could pee with the dead man in there," Daisy said. "He wouldn't know."

"He would too." I pulled a face and tapped my nose. "I doubt Rory would let me in there anyway. She's fussing over him like a mother hen."

"The fairy cares about him," Daisy said, shrugging. Then she gave me a shrewd woman-to-woman look. "You'd do the same for someone you cared about."

Pete, too busy gathering our food to catch her meaning, chuckled. "You sayin' that protective instinct is a fairy thing, sis? It ain't. It's a woman thing and you know it. Here you go, Sookie." He handed me a promisingly grease-stained paper bag and a second cup of coffee.

"Thanks," I said, grateful for the excuse to avoid Daisy's eyes. I knew exactly what she was getting at. I'd faced down a loaded gun for Eric last night.

Tabner and that effing taser. My hands clenched on the bag as the memory came, unstoppable as the tide:_ Eric on the ground, felled like a tree. Still, so awful still for someone so full of life. A sudden, terrible, paralysing fear. He'd been staked! A desperate second, my eyes raking over him, searching for ash, finding wires. Then he snarled and I wanted to tear those silver barbs out of his chest and shove them into Tabner's eyes._

I shook the memory away. "So what's the plan?"

Pete shrugged. "Stay here, lick our wounds. Least for today." Daisy pulled a face to show what she thought of that.

"Sounds good to me," I said. "See y'all later."

…

"Can I ask you something?" I asked Rory. The paper bag had lived up to its promise. The bacon- and egg-filled croissants Todd had gotten us were heavenly and the little table we were sitting at was strewn with crumbs.

"Feel free," she said, taking a bite. The gal could put it away; that was her third.

I fidgeted with my empty cup, finding the words to begin. You see, I was contemplating giving her a heads-up about Iowa.

Oh, not because we'd bonded over breakfast and I didn't want to see another woman in the position I'd been in. No, it wasn't that. Honestly? I just couldn't bear for Eric to mess up another chance at happiness on account of all that vampire bullshit his Maker spent centuries drilling into him.

Sure, Eric _said_ Rory wasn't his significant other.

But I didn't believe that for a second. His promise to tell me the truth whenever he could had expired long ago. Heck, he'd told me enough lies before he left for Oklahoma to prove that.

No, these days I trusted Eric's actions over his words and he'd sure as hell acted like Rory was pretty damn significant to him last night. Rory was highly protective of him too, that much was clear. And all those months ago at Sanctum she'd scolded me for letting him go, so I figured she would fight to keep him if things were even half-way mutual between them.

But that was a big if. I needed a clearer idea of what I was stepping into, however little enthusiasm I had for prying into their relationship. Screwing up my courage, I put my cup down and went for broke.

"Eric gave you his blood."

She froze for a second, then finished her mouthful real slow. I couldn't read her mind, but I could sure as hell read her actions. She was taken off-guard and playing for time.

But she met my eyes when she answered, "He did. Once."

My mouth was dry and I wished I had some coffee left, but I soldiered on. "You were hurt?"

She shook her head.

"I thought not," I said evenly, hiding my dismay. A willing donation, then, with all that implied. "You're dear to him."

"Eric is certainly dear to me," she said slowly, "but what I am to Eric is for him to say, don't you think? You should ask him."

My chuckle was dry as dust. "Oh no. That wouldn't go down at all well." I was sure we'd been seconds from a shouting match when what she was to him had come up at the summit.

"I think you'd be surprised." She smiled encouragingly as she said it, but her smile fell away. "Sookie, whatever I am to Eric, you don't know him very well if you think he would sign away a century for a passing fancy."

It was my turn to be taken off-guard, mostly by the lack of malice in her tone. It was gentle even. Wasn't the current girlfriend supposed to be jealous of the ex? She'd certainly seemed so the last time we spoke.

Shepherd of Judea, I was almost starting to like her.

And that meant I should really clear the air. Wiping my hands on a napkin, I hunted for the right words. "Our … difference of opinion at Sanctum," I began, stopping when she gave me a wry smile.

"That's a generous description."

"It is." I cleared my throat. "Some of the things you said that night weren't … completely wide of the mark. I didn't try to stop Eric leaving, not as much as I should have. I refused to see how awful Oklahoma would be for him. He hid that part from me, you know."

"That I can believe. He has his pride." Green eyes watched me closely. "Are you angry with him for that?"

"Not now, no. It was partly my fault. I made it pretty clear I wasn't interested in all of that vampire bullshit."

She grinned briefly at that, then tilted her head. "Was there no-one else to explain it?"

"Not really. And at the time I felt it was between me and Eric." Gran always said a lady didn't air her dirty laundry for the whole parish to see, that what was between a man and a woman should stay that way. I'd taken that to heart more than I realised. I sighed, looking down at my empty cup. "I didn't fully understand what being a consort meant. I'm not a supe, I was new to all that, and I had no idea how it all worked. Still don't, really."

"A foot in two worlds," she said softly. "That can be very lonely."

"It sure is," I said with feeling. Keeping the human and supe halves of my life separate was an effort, one that left me without anyone to confide in a lot of the time.

When I looked up, Rory's expression was distant. She came back to herself and gave me a rueful look. "I understand. More than you know."

Maybe she did. I sat back and watched her for a moment, but there were no red flags, no crazy girlfriend vibes. She cared about Eric, no doubt about that. Decision made I admitted, "I should've known Eric would hide the worst from me. I was too angry to push for the truth and I guess in the end I just didn't know him well enough." I paused. "Maybe you don't either."

She looked surprised. "How so?"

I took a deep breath. "He's about to sign away another century."

"He is?" She didn't seem upset, more puzzled. "Oh. The summit, of course. Who?"

"Iowa. She, um, assured me it wouldn't be anything like Oklahoma."

"You spoke to her?" Her eyebrows shot up, and she glanced towards the bathroom. "Does he know that?"

"No. And I'd appreciate it if you kept that to yourself. In exchange for the warning."

"That would be a fair trade, wouldn't it?" She considered me for a long moment. "You have too many secrets, Sookie Stackhouse. They weigh on you."

"Comes with the territory," I said, tapping my temple. "Here, have the last pastry. I'll clear up."

…

"Rory," I hissed, late in the afternoon.

She sat up, instantly awake, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. "What is it?"

"Demon. Coming up the stairs." I'd been scanning our surroundings while she slept and the rapidly approaching fuzzy mind had rung alarm bells.

Touching a finger to her lips, she slid a hand under her pillow and pulled out that dagger. I nodded grimly, wishing my arm was healed and I had a better weapon than the lamp I was clutching. Rory slipped out of bed and moved silently to the door, her body taut with tension. She was barefoot and her pale blue nightgown swirled round her ankles.

Footsteps outside, quick and purposeful. A shadow fell across the window.

Rory gasped. Before I knew what was happening, she'd opened the door and yanked a dark-haired man inside.

"Sebastian!" She slammed the door, reactivating the ward with a tap. "What are you doing here? Did Eric send for you?"

Sebastian, whoever the hell he was, hardly spare me a glance. He grabbed Rory by the arms and growled something harsh that wasn't in any language I knew. Expecting a fight, expecting Rory to skewer him with her dagger any second, I raised the lamp and stepped forward, ready to whack him over the head for good measure.

Then I saw Rory's expression.

It wasn't fierce, or angry, or even scared. Nope, none of those. It was quietly pleased, her eyes alight. A slow smile graced her lips as the demon, still muttering guttural words under his breath, held her at arm's length and looked her over from head to toe. I didn't need to speak his language to know what was going on. He was checking her for injuries, behaviour I recognised from all the times it had been directed at me.

He cared about her. Now wasn't _that_ interesting.

Feeling ridiculous, I lowered the lamp and finally saw past the denim and the cowboy boots he was wearing — a rancher look that would blend in with the locals but was at odds with briefcase he'd dropped by the door. I did know him and his neat goatee.

Mr Cataliades' replacement and Eric's new lawyer, Sebastian Mithradates.

"You didn't come for Eric," Rory said softly, pressing her knuckles to his cheek as he let her go.

"No," he said intently, catching her hand and kissing her fingertips. "You are weak. You shouldn't be here."

She shook her head and gestured at the bathroom. "I stay until sunset."

The look he gave her wasn't exactly approving, but he only said, "Then I stay too. Eric and I spoke last night. There are leads he wished me to chase, but that can be done here as well as anywhere."

"Thank you." She put a hand on his chest and stared into his eyes. Deep into his eyes, while he stared right back.

Ookaay. That certainly looked mutual. Rory cared for Sebastian.

Sebastian _and_ Eric?

My flash of indignation on Eric's behalf, inexplicable as it was, faded quickly to puzzlement. I'd always suspected fairies weren't monogamous, but Eric was not one to share. Well, he hadn't been with me, but I was a lowly human. Maybe it was different with other supes, maybe he couldn't demand exclusivity. I had no idea.

Nor had I any idea if open relationships were something Eric merely tolerated or enthusiastically enjoyed. His relationship history was a can of worms I hadn't opened when I was actually with him and it was certainly none of my business now.

Even if I was curious as all get out over the love triangle I was apparently witnessing. Rory looked about ready to kiss tall, dark and handsome.

Guess that explained why she wasn't too upset about Iowa.

Shit. I'd been too quick to let that cat out of the bag. Well, too late to stuff it back in now.

Not in the mood to play gooseberry, I put the lamp down on the table a little hard. The clatter popped the bubble the love-birds were busy floating in and Rory turned to me, her expression still soft.

"Sookie. This is—"

"Mr Mithradates," I said politely, pronouncing it Mith-ra-day-tees, just like Jephson had when he introduced us at the summit. "We've met."

"Miss Stackhouse." The lawyer nodded to me politely, looking not one whit embarrassed. "I hear you had an interesting night. Are you well?"

"I've been better." Suddenly suspicious I asked, "How did you find us?"

Given what I'd just witnessed, Sebastian might have reason to wish Eric harm. And Rory, for all her protectiveness, might be blind to that. Had she told him where we were?

"An excellent question." His sharp eyes met mine so directly, I wondered again if he was a telepath as he answered my unspoken thought: "Miss Kingfisher was careful not to reveal where she was when she called me last night."

"I was," Rory said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Very careful. So how…? Ah. My phone. You traced the call."

He shrugged, eyes twinkling. "I might have."

Shit, she had that phone at the farmhouse and it was essential none of us could be placed there.

I was free and clear. My cell was safely back in Houston and no-one, not even Tabner's shadowy associates, could link me to the phone Eric had given me — that was the whole point of burner phones. Daisy and Pete had had their own phones with them when we were captured, but Eric had taken care of that. One of Stan's people was removing anything incriminating from the phone company's records, how I didn't want to know.

I didn't think Eric had included Rory's phone in that. I sucked in a breath. "Rory, if that phone can be traced to you, we need to–"

"It's protected," she interrupted. "No human can trace it."

"Are you sure? Tabner had a witch working for him, and if Mr Mithradates here could—"

"Yes, I'm sure." She smiled fondly at the lawyer. "Sebastian has hidden talents."

"Speaking of which," he said, picking up that briefcase of his and tapping it. "I should get to work."

"Of course," Rory replied graciously. Then she grinned. "Let me put on something less distracting."

In an eye-blink she was dressed in jeans and cream sweater.

That was one fairy ability I wouldn't mind sharing.

Sebastian smiled back at her for a moment. Then he got out a laptop and sat at the table, his long legs folded tightly to fit underneath it. Rory sat cross-legged on her bed, braiding her hair like she hadn't a care in the world, but an awkwardness descended over the room.

The lawyer tapped away at his keyboard while I stood at the window, fidgeting with the drapes and pretending to scan the parking lot, half-listening to the noise of his typing. An odd rhythm in it caught my attention — clickety, clickety, click, click, click — and the weirdest feeling came over me, all the hairs on my arms lifting at once.

I turned away from the window and plopped down on the bed. Rory shot me an odd look that I ignored. Sebastian was hunched over his laptop, forehead creasing as row after row of numbers scrolled up the screen.

For all the sense they made to me, I might as well have been trapped in the Matrix.

Clearing my throat I said, "I didn't know demons were into computing. Are you working on what we found out last night?"

"Yes, some of it." He glanced up. "Have you encountered many demons, Miss Stackhouse?"

"Only Desmond Cataliades and his niece Diantha."

"Ah yes." He frowned at the screen, but I got the impression he was listening to me intently. "You met Desmond through Sophie-Ann, of course?"

"Er, yes. But he's…" Unsure of what I should reveal, I finished lamely: "A friend of the family."

"Your human family?"

I hesitated. And he looked at Rory, much to my surprise.

In the way of couples who know each other off by heart, a whole conversation that I had no part in passed between them in a single glance. At the end of it he raised an eyebrow and said simply, "Fintan."

Rory gave me an apologetic look, but answered nevertheless. "He and Desmond were very close."

Damn it. She'd claimed to be a friend of Fintan's, but I'd disbelieved her at the time and had forgotten it since.

"Ah." Sebastian sat back in his chair and studied me. "That explains much."

Oh-oh. My telepathy. He'd figured out where, or rather _who_ it came from. I stiffened, sure I'd let slip something that could cause trouble for Mr Cataliades.

Sebastian raised a hand in a calming gesture. "You have not given anything important away, Miss Stackhouse. Desmond is my mentor and we are on good terms, else I would not have realised the, ah, nature of your connection to him. But you should be more circumspect about that. We demons guard our abilities jealously."

"From each other or from other supes?"

A smile brightened his face. "You are a perceptive woman, Miss Stackhouse. From both, if we can."

I looked pointedly at Rory, who was keeping real quiet. She was a supe.

He chuckled. "I think we are safe there. Miss Kingfisher has known Desmond far longer than I."

"She has?" I said snippily. "Small world, huh?"

"It's not so surprising. Miss Kingfisher _is_ more than twice my age." His smile became mischievous and his hazel eyes lit up. Wow, what a handsome guy he was. "You know how it is, once a cougar sets her sights on you there's no escape."

Rory laughed, but before she could say anything a noise had us all turning to the window.

A pop, the distinctive pop of a fairy teleporting.

I scrambled to my feet as Sebastian, moving faster than I could track, took up a position behind the door. Rory was at the window, dagger in hand as she twitched the drapes aside and confirmed what I already suspected from the mental signatures:

"It's for you, Sookie."


	47. Supe Central

Thanks for all the reviews - it's great to be back!

You know the drill: arms and legs inside the ride at all times. Here we go...

* * *

**Supe Central**

* * *

The sun was still hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds when I stepped out of the motel room, grumbling under my breath, "It's like Grand Central for supes round here."

The latest pair of arrivals greeted me with such obvious relief my irritation melted clean away. Diantha was back to herself after the summit, her hair spiked up and dyed a vibrant orange that clashed terribly with the green velvet jacket she was wearing, less so with her black pants and bright red sneakers.

Meredith was far less eye-catching in jeans and a navy blue coat, her long dark hair tucked, unusually for her, into a tight bun. Her smile vanished as I was followed onto the walkway.

Rory pulled the door shut behind her with a loud click and leaned against it, her eyes watchful and hard. Her hand didn't stray far from her dagger either, the hilt clearly visible in the waistband of her jeans. What the hell had put her back up?

Unfazed, Diantha pulled out a phone and proceeded to type on it as fast as she spoke. "Just-letting-Uncle-know-we-found-yer," she said in one breath.

It was Meredith, looking as fierce as I'd ever seen her, who stepped forward and addressed Rory, saying something melodious and fancy-sounding. I figured it was a formal fairy greeting because I caught her name amongst the unfamiliar words, but her body language screamed tension not politeness.

Rory replied likewise, but with an edge to her voice I didn't like.

What the hell was going on? Was I witnessing some harmless duel of manners, or some personal vendetta? Diantha sure seemed relaxed, but with all their minds closed to me we could be moments from bloodshed and I wouldn't know. I didn't need their words to be indecipherable too.

"English please, ladies," I said, smiling my best company smile and dripping manners. "If you wouldn't mind."

"As you wish," Meredith said, nodding agreeably to me. Her jaw tightened as she turned back to Rory. "I am Sookie's guardian, by the authority of Niall Brigant. Why was I prevented from teleporting to her side?"

"A ward will do that," Rory replied, with a cool shrug. "And I owe Brigant no loyalty."

"Interfering between a guardian and her charge is forbidden."

"I let Sookie outside the ward without delay, as is required. And, as you can see, she is intact."

"And capable of speaking for herself," I said sharply. "Look, ladies, why don't we take this inside?"

"No," Rory said, mouth and shoulders setting firm. "She is not welcome."

"Why ever—? Oh. Eric."

Rory hissed at me. Whoops. Guess I shouldn't have let slip he was dead for the day in there.

"The vampire is inside?" Meredith said, aghast. She looked between us. "And you were both with him?"

"Yes," Rory said before I could answer. Her eyes flashed as her hand went to that damned dagger. "And I defend him with my life. Do not think to tell Brigant where he rests."

"I … I will not." Meredith seemed more bewildered than intimidated. "I am here for Sookie. I mean the vampire no harm, I swear it."

"Better not or it will go ill for you, child," Rory said warningly, but she dropped her hand and the tension eased somewhat.

"What binds you to Louisiana's service?" Meredith asked slowly, frowning at Rory with concern flickering in her eyes. "What is it you owe him?"

"Owe him?" Rory laughed, dark and soft. "It is not a matter of debt between us."

"Why else would you protect a vampire?"

"Because I want to. Is that so inconceivable?"

Meredith's frown became uncertain. "You can't actually … _like _one of them."

"Oh child," Rory said with amusement. "You have led a sheltered life, haven't you? Eric is not the first vampire I've counted a friend." She winked at me so fast I almost missed it. "That was Vlad, a Romanian. We met in Transylvania, many years ago."

"You don't mean…?" I said, amazed. "Does Eric know that?"

"Oh," she said airily, "I may have mentioned it."

From Meredith's confused expression, she had no idea we were alluding to the most famous vampire of all time. Diantha, however, was smiling so broadly I reckoned that she did, and that she also knew about Eric's serious case of Dracula-worship.

I was just relieved the atmosphere had lightened.

"I bet Eric was thrilled to hear that you knew the big D," I said, smiling as I imagined him begging for an introduction to the Dark Prince of Wallachia.

Rory grinned back. "Oh, he was. Until I told him Vlad was just an alias and his real name was Stephan."

"No," I gasped. "How long did you string Eric along?"

"Long enough. He's so easy to tease with that, isn't he?"

I laughed. "He sure is."

"You teased a vampire?" Meredith looked between us as if we were crazy. "Isn't that … dangerous?"

"Depends what you tease them with," Rory said, smirking. "They're no different to the rest of us supes that way."

That sobered me up real fast. I wasn't included in that _us;_ I was one of _them_, a lowly human.

"That's easy for you to say," Meredith said, wrinkling her nose at Rory. "You can mask your scent. I can't."

That sure explained why Rory was so comfortable around vamps. Meredith was as skittish as a new-born colt, but I would be too if I smelt like vampire crack.

"There are other ways around that," Rory said, a challenge in her tone. "If you are bold enough."

"She stood up to you, didn't she?" Diantha butted in, flashing sharp teeth in her version of a friendly grin as she pocketed her phone. "Wotcha, Miss Kingfisher."

Rory smiled warmly and dipped her head to the half-demon. "Diantha. Well met this day. I like the hair. Orange suits you."

Diantha bobbed her head, spiked hair waving. "Thanks. Sookie been any trouble?"

Traitor. I glared indignantly at her, but she ignored me.

"Not at all," Rory said. "She's been quite useful."

Meredith, who'd moved closer to me while they talked, gasped. "She's hurt. You said she was intact. What happened, Sookie?"

"It's nothing," I said quickly, hoping to head off any hostility. "It'll hardly even scar."

Meredith, lips pursed, peered at my face. "You've lost blood. Too much blood. You must eat."

"I'mhungrytoo," Diantha said cheerfully. "Anywhere decent to eat round here?"

"No idea," Rory said. "I haven't left the motel. I assume Desmond sent you?"

"Yep. The tiger was ready to hop on a plane himself, but Uncle persuaded him we'd find Sookie faster."

"Oh my Lord! Quinn!" I blurted out. I'd left him a message… When was that? Yesterday morning. And he hadn't heard from me since. "Shoot, I have to call him."

"Do that on the way," Meredith said firmly, putting a hand my good arm. "Come on, let's get you some nourishment."

"I..." Torn, I glanced at the drape-covered window. Would Eric be safe here with Rory and the lawyer? The demon was right behind the door, probably listening to every word.

"Go do what you need to do, Sookie," Rory said, matter-of-fact and a sudden coldness to her tone that I had no idea how I'd earned. "I will hold the fort."

Well, all-righty then. Eric would be just fine without me. Let Rory defend him with her life. Meredith ushered me away and when I looked back, just before we took the stairs, Rory had already disappeared.

…

A young woman had replaced Todd on the motel's front desk and I smiled at her through the dusty window as Meredith went in to ask for a restaurant recommendation. Somewhere that did take-out, so I could bring something back for Daisy and Pete. Rory could make her own arrangements since she was giving me the cold shoulder.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I asked Diantha. "I left mine in Houston."

"Sure." She pulled it out. "You calling Quinn?"

I made a face to show how much I was looking forward to that. "Yeah, but first I need to speak to your uncle real quick. If that's okay."

Giving me a thoughtful look, she tapped the phone a couple times and handed it to me. "Just hit dial."

As soon as the call connected I said, "Hi, it's Sookie Stackhouse. Can you spare a minute, Mr Cataliades? I have a question about protocol."

"For you, yes. Ask away, my dear. And call me Desmond, but I suspect you will ignore that as usual."

The fondness in his tone belied any real irritation on his part, which made me smile. Gran taught me to be respectful of my elders and betters, but maybe it _was_ time to drop that layer of formality. Question first, though.

"Thank you. If I knew of a threat to … to people like Amelia and like me," I said, picking my words carefully, "who would be the appropriate person to take that to?"

"Hm. A local threat or a more far-reaching one?"

"We're talking coast to coast," I answered. Did he know something of what we'd uncovered, or had being a lawyer just made him good at anticipating possibilities?

"Ah. That is a dilemma." He paused and I imagined that slight frown he got when he was thinking deeply. "People like your young friend in New Orleans organise themselves locally. I believe you would do better speaking to a certain envoy. He has a longer reach."

"That's what I thought. I just wanted to check with you first."

"It is good to do that. I am glad to hear your voice, my dear. I was concerned."

"I'm glad to hear yours, too." Now the bad news and I rushed it out fast. "I ran into your successor just now, Mr. Mithradates. He, er, worked out our connection, if you get my drift. I'm real sorry if that causes you any problems."

"Ah. No need to apologise, my dear. Only someone already in my confidence could make that link."

"Yes, that's what he said. Before he warned me not to run my mouth around any other … lawyers and such."

A deep, rich belly laugh echoed down the line. "I imagine my staid young protégé did not use those exact words, but the sentiment is sound. Do not worry about Sebastian. There is a benefit to his knowing what you are to me: he will be obliged to treat you well if he wants to keep on my good side. Is there anything else?"

"No, that's it. Thank you. I appreciate your help, _Desmond_." I rang off, smiling as I imagined his shock.

Then, steeling myself, I dialled Quinn. Diantha was leaning against the wall a few feet away, but I knew she was hanging on every word from how still she was. I didn't beat around the bush when he picked up. "Quinn. It's me."

"Babe." There was a world of relief in that word. I winced, and forgave the anger in his voice as he continued: "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you since yesterday!"

"That's a long story." One I couldn't share over the phone. "I'm sorry, truly I am. I couldn't call you. We ran into some difficulties last night."

"Difficulties?" he growled. A thud in the background spoke to his frustration and I winced again. "How bad? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, just fine." That white lie was going to cost me when I got back to Memphis, but I didn't want him worrying over nothing. "Everything is right as rain now, and the good news is we found what we came for."

"Good. When are you coming home?"

"Um, I won't know for a few hours." I peered at the sky. "Not until…"

"Sunset," he finished bitterly. "When Northman rises."

I could've kicked myself. "Yeah," I admitted quietly. "There's a few loose ends to tie up."

"Yeah? What do you need him for? Goddamn bloodsuckers, all the fucking same, take over everything. This is twoey business. Daisy should be calling the shots."

Telling him Daisy almost died last night would freak him out. Telling him it had turned out to be vampire business after all would only get me a barrage of angry questions. Telling him what had happened with Tabner, how close I'd come to losing my freedom… Well, it wasn't fair to dump that on him over the phone just to make myself feel better. Asking him about Bardulf could wait, too.

"Look," I said, "I'll call as soon as I know, okay?"

"Alright," he grumbled. After a moment he added softly, "I feel like I aged a year the last twenty-four hours."

"Yeah, you and me both." I sighed. "I'll be home soon, honey. I promise."

"I miss you, babe."

"Right back atcha." The door opened behind me. "I have to go."

…

There was restaurant a block away. Nothing fancy, and it was mostly empty when we got there. Meredith ordered me a slab of steak the size of Texas and I didn't argue. At the summit, Serena had preferred steak over iron tablets. I figured a doctor who let vampires bite her would know what was best for blood loss. Once the waitress had gone, I filled them in on what had happened. The short version: that we'd been taken prisoner by three werewolves, that the FBI were involved, and that Lanzo, a vampire working for Felipe, had slashed my arm.

"And this Lanzo is finally dead?" Meredith asked for the second time. His fate seemed more important to her than anything else.

"Or soon will be." Once Thalia had finished with him.

"Good," she said grimly. "I should not have let you go with the witch and her brother, Sookie. I should have come with you."

"It's a good thing you didn't," I said, remembering Thalia slurping away at Chico's corpse. "It was a mess. Blood everywhere, injured vamps. Not a great combination for you."

"No," Meredith said with a shudder. "But I'm your guardian and you were hurt."

"It's a clean cut. It won't take long to heal." It didn't say much for my life that I knew that from experience, did it?

"No, it's more than that." She reached across the table and took my hand, searching my face. "Something happened that shook you to the core. I can sense it."

Damn fairies.

"If you say so," I said irritably, then sighed. She meant well, I could read that now we were touching. That fairy warmth was working its way from her hand to mine too, and I might as well take what comfort I could until I could unloaded on Quinn. "I guess Niall told you I was in trouble."

That comforting warmth wavered.

"I'm afraid not." It was Meredith's turn to sigh. "Niall was called to the Realm not long after you last spoke and it's not always possible to sense what is happening here from there."

"Oh." Of course. He never seemed to be around when I needed him the most.

"I let you down," she said sadly. "I should have come to you as soon as I knew Niall was out of contact. If I'd been within range, I could've popped you to safety."

"You weren't to know what would happen." I tugged my hand gently out of hers so I could stop feeling her remorse and focus on the practical: what I'd seen in Tabner's head, that 'facility' of his he wanted to put me in. "When will Niall be back? I need to speak to him."

"In a day or two. Perhaps I could help?"

I didn't want to offend her, but I wasn't exactly sure where her loyalties lay in the bigger picture of fairy politics, plus I figured it was Niall and his influence I needed.

"Thanks, but it'll keep," I said, just as the waitress arrived with our order and thankfully put an end to that conversation.

My steak was pretty damn good. Diantha sure appreciated the ribs she ordered – the bib she tied on was soon splattered with so much sauce that it looked like she'd eaten a whole cow. Meredith, who had the chicken, was a much tidier and less toothy eater.

While we ate, they filled me in on their side of things. When Quinn couldn't get hold of me yesterday, he panicked. Understandably so — after the Jackson murder tensions were running high between regular folk and twoeys in Houston. And that was where Quinn thought I was. He had a local contact of his check out the Elysium. (I figured it was the guy who loaned us his apartment for the Torn Ear contest.) When the guy discovered I was gone and that I'd left my phone behind, Quinn, who knew nothing about the phone Eric had given me, promptly assumed the worst: that I'd been snatched.

Luckily, Mr Cataliades had been trying to reach me too and he happened to call Quinn before he could do something rash — like forming a posse of angry werewolves to scour Texas for me. The lawyer calmed Quinn down, got him to alert Meredith, and got a-hold of Diantha himself.

The two ladies got to Texas faster than a plane from Memphis would have, and met up in Houston early this morning. When Meredith couldn't sense me anywhere in the city, Mr Cataliades was the one who thought to call Stan Davis's day people, figuring they'd at least have an idea where Eric was. Whoever he spoke to would only say we were somewhere near San Antonio, and only that much after Mr Cataliades reminded them I was under Niall's protection and threatened dire consequences if I was hurt.

Once the ladies got to San Antonio, I was close enough for Meredith to home in on, and here we were. It was unexpected and heart-warming, having so many people worry enough to come looking for me.

I thanked Diantha, but of course Meredith was part-fairy. Giving her my best grateful smile I said, "You didn't have to come all the way out here, but I sure appreciate that you did."

Meredith smiled back. "If you really appreciate it, let me come with you next time you go poking around something this dangerous."

I grinned. "I'll think about it. Actually, there is something you could help me with. A fairy thing." I gave Diantha an apologetic look.

She rolled her eyes, dropped a picked-clean rib bone on her plate, wiped the sauce of her face with the bib, and left the table with a muttered: "I'llbeintherestroom".

Meredith looked at me expectantly.

"I, er, found out I can do something new. Something called charm?"

"Oh," she said, straightening up. "Who told you that? Humans call many things fairies do charm."

"Daisy. She was there while I was talking to someone and he told me more than he should have." I was careful not to name New Mexico, sure he would be less than pleased if it got out that I'd hoodwinked him into telling me his personal creation story, however inadvertently I'd done it.

"Oh, I see. That's a common gift, the ability to charm information from someone." She sounded a little disappointed, like I was a toddler who'd learnt to walk.

"But it _is_ a fairy thing?"

"Yes. The fae term for it doesn't quite translate. It means something like … confluence."

"A coming together, two rivers merging?" I said, from a vague memory of a Word-of-the-Day calendar.

"Yes," she said, delighted. "That's it exactly. Flowing as one, you and the target flowing in sympathy, you see? Humans have little resistance to it."

My mouth went dry. I said quietly, "So they'll trust me and spill all their secrets."

"Yes. Even supernaturals can be affected." Her eyes lost their focused. "Silver-tongued, some have call it. Done right, it can peel back lies, expose the bones of someone, the truth of them."

What a delightful turn of phrase she had.

Oblivious to my discomfort she said brightly,"I can teach you how to use it when we get back to Memphis."

"That's … Yeah, that's a good idea." It wasn't a power I wanted, but it seemed I was stuck with it and if I could control it, I wouldn't do it accidentally. "Would you excuse me?"

In the restroom, Diantha was watching a mother and daughter at the sinks with interest. The little girl was arguing sullenly that she deserved a dessert even if she hadn't eaten all her greens because_ broccoli was disgusting._ Smiling, I ducked into a cubicle and did my business. Diantha was waiting alone when I came out.

As I washed my hands she said, "Uncle wants to talk to you about what he found in Tennessee."

"Yes, of course. I'll call him as soon as I get back to Memphis." I dried my hands, wishing I could be done with Bardulf and that whole mess already. And strange fairy abilities I didn't really want. Throwing the paper-towel in the trash I had a thought. "Guess you know Sebastian Mithradates?"

"Yep. He's pretty good as lawyers go. Not as good as Uncle, but he's not as old."

That didn't mean much to me as I had no idea how to estimate a demon's age. "What's he like as a, uh, person?"

She shrugged. "Serious, a bit stuffy. Quick-witted, though."

"Yes, sharp as a whip that one." I bit my lip and then thought what the hell, I might as well ask. "I know y'all are secretive so tell me to butt out if you have to, but is he a telepath?"

"No, he's not," she said slowly. "All of us have different … talents."

I met her eyes. "He's real familiar with computers."

"He's not exactly yer regular hacker." She caught her tongue between her teeth, frowning. Then she seemed to come to a decision. "Don't play cards with him. Or bet on any dice he throws."

I blinked. "I won't. Thanks for the warning."

Even if I had no idea what it meant. Whatever supernatural ability Sebastian Mithradates had, it certainly sound like more than knowing his way round a keyboard.

…

The sun had set by the time we left the restaurant. I figured Eric wouldn't want to hang around at the scene of our run-in with Tabner and we'd be returning to Houston. When I told Meredith that, she declared there was no way she was sharing a vehicle with Thalia and Eric. As she and Diantha had arrived by supernatural means, she went to find us a car of our own while Diantha escorted me back to the motel.

We ran into Sebastian Mithradates in the parking lot. He was juggling that holdall of Rory's and his briefcase in one hand, tugging a bunch of keys awkwardly out of his pocket with the other. (His jeans _were_ a little snug. A girl notices these things.)

"Wotcha Sebastian," Diantha said cheerfully. "What yer doing?"

"Good evening, Diantha. I am about to escort Miss Kingfisher back to Louisiana." He finally got his keys free and pressed the fob. The motel was almost empty, so there were only three cars in the lot and I wasn't surprised when it was the smart sedan that flashed and clicked unlocked. It looked like a fancy lawyer's car. He gave Diantha a significant look as he put the bags in the trunk. "Thalia is arriving soon. We will be leaving shortly."

So Thalia was too much for the fairy who liked to hang out with vampires, huh? I chuckled quietly as he asked after Desmond. Diantha replied her uncle was well, and asked after some old clients of his, folks I didn't know from Adam. They looked set to be catching up for a while.

Hefting the bag of take-out I was carrying into Diantha's eye-line, I mouthed that I'd just be a moment. She shrugged an okay, so I left them chatting and trotted up the stairs. The second floor was empty apart from our group, so beyond counting off room numbers I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings until I heard voices and stopped in my tracks.

Raised voices, from a few rooms ahead. Our room.

The door was open. Not fully, just a hand's width, but enough for the sound to escape.

Rory and Eric were arguing. Over the lawyer?

I couldn't make out what they were saying. Curiosity ate at me and I bit my lip, wavering.

They were making enough noise that Eric probably wouldn't hear anything over it. Temptation overcame my better judgement and, quiet as a church mouse, I snuck closer, hugging the wall.

The drapes were not quite shut, a thin sliver lit up between them. Eric paced in and out of view, like a caged lion.

"... not the right time," he was saying, loud and exasperated. "It will add complications I do not need." His back to the window, his next words were indistinct.

"Screw the marriage to Iowa," Rory said, clear and sharp.

Oh, _that _was what they were squabbling over.

I couldn't see Eric's face, but his voice was cold as he replied: "My people depend on me to hold Louisiana and I will not renege on that commitment. If that means an alliance with Iowa, so be it."

Oh _Eric, _I thought, sad for him but also childishly relieved that he wouldn't put his kingly ambitions aside for Rory either. Female pride could be a terribly petty thing at times.

"The throne comes before what you want, even now?" Her voice was mocking. "And I thought vampires were selfish."

"We are," he spat, gesturing forcefully as he strode briefly into sight. "The situation is still precarious. None of this will matter if I am finally dead."

"It won't come to that. I won't allow it," she said fiercely. "But your objections do not hold water. Marrying Iowa is not necessary and you know it."

"This is not your business."

"Yes, it is. Secure her now, make her yours and it serves both motives. You get what you want and Louisiana gets an asset, a powerful one."

What did she mean? Who did Eric need to secure, some other vampire queen?

"Do not interfere. I will handle this."

The quiet menace in Eric's tone raised the hairs on the back of my neck, but Rory snorted disparagingly and said, "How is letting her go back to Memphis handling anything?"

Outside, an icy chill gripped my heart.

They were talking about me! About Eric making me his like I was a car he could buy, a piece of land he could own. Screw that! If I could have popped away, I would have been three states over in a heartbeat. As things stood, I held my breath as they both came into view, willing them not to look at the window, willing the darkness to cloak me.

"Eric please," Rory said, putting her hand on his arm. "Act now. She spoke to Iowa on your behalf, the opening is there."

Oh no. No, no, no. She promised not to tell him that!

Wait. No, she hadn't. She hadn't actually promised, had she. She'd just let me assume, the tricky fairy bitch! Heat flooded my cheeks as my dander rose and I struggled to stay put, fighting the urge to burst in on them and give them both a piece of my mind.

"No." Eric lifted Rory's hand off his arm with exaggerated calm and dropped it. "Now is not the time to act, I am sure of it."

"And I am sure you won't get a better chance!" She threw up her hands. "Ugh! I love you Eric, but you are beyond stubborn. Delay and she will slip through your fingers again!"

Eric growled, deep and menacing, and all but yelled, "Do you think I have no plans of my own, woman? Do you think me incapable of running my own affairs?"

"No, of course not. But—"

"Enough!" he bellowed. "This conversation is over."

"Fine! On your own head be it." With a pop, Rory's mind winked out and winked back into existence down in the parking lot with the two demons. A car door opened noisily and slammed shut.

Simultaneously, a loud crash came from the room. A stream of furious cussing followed, cut short when the door banged shut, rattling the window in its frame.

Out on the walkway, I was stone-cold furious too.

Son of a bitch! Eric hadn't listened to a damn word I'd said in Baton Rouge. I thought he'd understood, that he got it, got me, respected my choice. I should've known. He'd given up far too easily when I stopped that kiss. Backing off was just a ploy, a trick. Eric never gave up on what he wanted.

And he did want me. The way he stalked me last night, the heat in his eyes…

And I'd been the tasty little gazelle, all doe-eyed and naïve, fresh meat for the lion. My lip curled in disgust. A damn _asset_ in a fuckable package, that's all I was to him.

And Rory loved him, but she was practically begging him to make me _his_. What sort of fucked-up fairy shit was that?

Toss me to the hungry lion so she could have her demon lawyer on the side, I'd bet.

I wanted no part of that hot mess.

Sick to my stomach, I backed carefully away and then rapped on Pete's door as if I'd just arrived, Crazy Sookie smile firmly in place.

Pete let me in and I kept up a stream of bright, perky chatter as I dumped the bag of take-out unceremoniously on the table. My hands shook with residual adrenaline as I pulled out boxes of food. Daisy gave me a searching look, but before she could ask what was wrong, Pete, still at the open door, sniffed at the air and announced that we had company. Already jumpy, I didn't hesitate to reach out, discovering a bunch of twoey minds had in the lot and one coming up the stairs that I recognised from its orderly, busy thoughts.

Elaine Randall.

Food forgotten, Pete and I stepped out to meet her. She didn't falter as she marched towards us, heels clicking and blackberry in hand, looking every inch the groomed politician, not a hair out of place. She made me feel under-dressed in my borrowed sweater and grubby jeans.

"What's she doing here?" Daisy asked, scowling from the doorway. Good question.

"He called me," Elaine said, nodding past us.

Eric had appeared on the walkway. He was calm, no trace of his earlier temper-tantrum.

I was still madder than a wet hen, but I was doing my damnedest to keep my face blank too.

"Sookie," he said, nodding at me. "You're back, good. The Caucus needs to hear about last night. Shall we?"

He gestured into the room he'd come out of. As we trooped inside after him, Elaine looked as dissatisfied as I was with the situation. She gave Daisy a sharp look. _You should've have been the one to call me, witch. What hornet's nest did you stir up this time?_

I shook my head. "Daisy didn't do anything, Elaine. This pile of horseshit was already stinking up the place, just waiting for us to step right in it."

Elaine's head snapped round, shock and the begins of disgust on her face.

Shit, I hadn't done that in a coon's age. Distracted and mind wide open, I'd answered her thought. Mumbling an embarrassed apology, I took a seat in the corner and tried to melt into the wall.

Eric, grim-faced, took charge and summarised what we'd discovered at the farmhouse. All business, he looked to me now and then to confirm details. The replies I gave were quiet and clipped, the friendly camaraderie we'd shared in Houston gone, chased away by the anger I was barely keeping a lid on.

If Eric noticed my coldness, his face gave away nothing. No-one else paid my terseness any mind. The mood grew sombre and Elaine's face darkened with each fresh revelation as Eric laid out the scope of Tabner's organisation, its tendrils buried deep in the highest echelons of our government and military, its plans to shackle vampire and two-natured alike.

Finally she asked in a clip tone, "And they had weapons powerful enough to take you down?"

"Temporarily," Eric said, flashing a hint of self-satisfied fang. "A taser. With silver barbs and heavy duty batteries."

"They call it the S-taser," I put in, grimacing. I didn't think Eric had reason to be smug, given how close a call it had been. "S for supe."

"Hurt like a bitch," Pete growled. "Put me on my ass as easy as pie."

"They had silver cuffs too,"I added. "And tranqs to stop y'all shifting, like the ones the cops have."

"Hm, I wondered about those," Elaine said. "They came out of nowhere."

Eric raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Vampires don't have a monopoly on intelligence," she said drily. "I have contacts in the pharmaceutical industry. Drugs take time to develop and no-one was working on that."

"No-one you knew of," Eric corrected. "This agency has a whole department working on countermeasures against us."

He looked at me and I rattled off the location of their main R&amp;D lab, up in Virginia. Elaine made a note of it on her blackberry and asked what else they were developing.

"A way to detect glamour," Daisy said.

"Yes," Eric agreed. "But it is too cumbersome to use in the field."

From his clipped tone, he wasn't happy to be sharing that with Elaine. Guess old habits died as hard for the undead as they did for the living. I had to credit him for calling her in though; I hadn't expected that level of co-operation.

"How long until it is?" Elaine asked, frowning.

He shrugged. "Tabner had limited knowledge of the weapons program."

Elaine looked at me and I confirmed it: "He didn't even know all the private companies they outsource this stuff to."

Smug son of a bitch had thought how clever it was that all their eggs weren't in one basket when we were questioning him too.

The Agency — I'd taken to capitalising it in my head — had scattered their operations across the country in an attempt to fly under the radar. Tabner had been instrumental in that, knowing that vamps were fragmented along state lines and wouldn't put the bigger picture together for some time. (He was scathing about twoey information gathering capabilities, they didn't even register as a threat.) He was careful that no one vampire knew too much of what he did. That was why he'd hired Lanzo out in California and why he'd been furious to discover Lanzo worked for Felipe.

You see, Tabner already made a deal with that particular devil.

The facility that he'd been all set to haul me off to was in Nevada. And Felipe had been paid, paid handsomely, to turn a blind eye to it.

The Facility (I decided it warranted a mocking capital of its own) was a bleak place and its cold concrete cells already held half a dozen prisoners. American citizens that Tabner was crafting into those 'tools' of his, Americans like me who looked human, were raised as human, and would have been just plain old human if a supe ancestor in the woodpile somewhere hadn't given them a special ability or two.

One of them was a young girl who could summon objects with her mind. Only seventeen, she was pale and terrified in every memory Tabner had of her.

That hell-hole had to be shut down.

I hadn't shared all that with Eric. Oh, I was sure he'd happily stake Felipe at the drop of a hat if he could get away with it, but there were rules about interfering in another king's territory, let alone another clan's, rules that might tie Eric's hands for all I knew.

If he was even willing to intervene. It was still vampires first, other supes second, and humans way down the list with Eric.

But fairies weren't bound by the same rules, far as I knew, so my instinct last night had been to tell Niall, not Eric. I was mighty glad of that in the light of what I'd just overheard.

Who knew what favour Eric might want from me in return for his help.

"Stan may know more," Eric was saying when I dragged my attention back to the conversation. "His people have had Tabner and the two remaining wolves for the day."

"One of the wolves was a witch," Daisy said darkly. "And the Fed knew that."

"These people know about witches?" Elaine asked in alarm.

"We believe the knowledge is restricted to a few select individuals," Eric reassured her.

"You hope," Daisy scoffed and Eric looked ready to throw her off the balcony.

"From what I could tell," I butted in before they could start on each other, "Tabner kept that real close to his chest. He wanted every advantage he could get. He doesn't trust anyone, not even his own higher-ups. "

"Yes, precisely," Eric said, giving Daisy a sharp look. "The information is contained at present."

Tabner really didn't want anyone in the FBI finding out other supes existed, going so far as to put Lattesta on gardening leave when he pressed to investigate Daisy. (Apparently Lattesta hadn't trusted his boss enough to mention he'd run into a telepath in Louisiana, thank goodness.) Lattesta, stickler for rules that he was, had started to question Tabner's orders and the last thing Tabner needed was an agent on the Dallas task force realising something fishy was going on, so he'd been as happy as a clam when Lattesta requested a transfer back to Illinois.

Tabner, however, was paranoid enough to check that Lattesta hadn't been glamoured into transferring, but whatever Daisy did to make Lattesta forget all about us went undetected by that brain-scanning gizmo of theirs. When I told Eric that Pam had glamoured Lattesta briefly in Tyler, he'd pursued that line of questioning and we'd discovered that Daisy's magic had masked that too, which had pleased Eric greatly. Confident that Stan's witches could cover up glamour with their magic, he'd set about ruthlessly removing Tabner's memories of the interrogation.

Eric could teach Tabner a thing or two about paranoia. He didn't trust anyone else to cover his ass.

Neither did Elaine, apparently.

"Information can't be contained forever," she said, tapping a pen against her blackberry. "If the FBI know about witches, if that gets out… People aren't ready to hear magic exists. The potential fall out… This is huge. I need to convene an emergency meeting of the Caucus."

"I must inform Amun and the other clans too," Eric said. "But I called you here as more than a courtesy. We need to co-ordinate our responses."

"Why?" Elaine was unconvinced, suspicious. V_ampires never do anything unless it benefits them._ "We're the ones with a PR nightmare on our hands over these murders."

Eric gave her a withering look that all but called her a fool. "This is bigger than a few corpses covered in wolf bites. This agency threatens us all. It is essential we work together."

Elaine narrowed her eyes and scrutinised him. "You really believe that, don't you? You weren't blowing smoke up all our asses while you were in Zeus."

"No, I was not. It was only a matter of time before humans acted against us, even Texas saw that. Do not underestimate them. Individually they may be weak, but they outnumber us." The weight of his years settled on his face and when he spoke again his voice was low. "There is a storm coming, a storm that could sweep away all the progress we have made. Only by uniting will we weather it. I have seen this many times. Humans do not like change. They lash out, fight it. It never comes without cost, without bloodshed and destruction."

His words echoed the things Tabner said about a new order, about the sacrifices that had to be made to usher it in, and that chilled me to the bone. I wasn't the only one; you could've heard a pin drop.

In the heavy silence, Daisy looked particularly grim and I got the distinct impression she was considering his words in the light of what her ancestors had paid for progress.

Elaine cleared her throat. "So how, in your opinion, should we handle this?"

"Carefully," Eric said, without a trace of humour. "Neutralising this agency will be difficult enough, but that is only one battle. To win the war, or rather to avoid a war we would almost certainly lose, we must sway public opinion in our favour. That will be much harder."

"I had an idea about that," I said slowly, forgetting I was furious with him in the seriousness of the situation. "Folks are out for blood and they won't be satisfied until the serial killer is caught. Why not call the press, have a packmaster in Jackson turn our werewolf friends over to the cops in a blaze of publicity. Let everyone see the twoeys police their own kind."

"That's not a bad idea," Elaine said thoughtfully, "and if the Feds trace it back to Tabner and his bosses…"

"Hector will be avenged," Daisy finished, with some satisfaction.

"No," Eric said, frowning. "That will not work. The wolves are foot soldiers, expendable. The people above Tabner will deny all knowledge of them, wriggle out of it. And they will find a way to pin the blame squarely back on Hector, on Tooth and Claw, if they can. It is what I would do."

"There must be some evidence," I argued. "Something we could use to prove who was really behind it."

"Where?" Pete said. "That house in Jackson was clean. Those wolves knew what they were doing."

"And, unfortunately for us, they _are _werewolves," Elaine said, pinching her nose. "Most people won't see beyond that even if we can prove whose orders they were following."

"Yes," Eric said thoughtfully, "having wolves commit the murders was ingenious. If they ever got caught, blame would still fall on the two-natured." He looked intently at Elaine. "A human killer would be far more convenient for our purposes."

"Yes," she said, eyes narrowing. "If we could find one."

"But we don't need to find one," I said, my sense of natural justice offended by what Eric was suggesting. "We have the killers."

"They're right though, Sookie," Pete said quietly. "Mud sticks. You saw what was happening in Houston. The cops harassing twoeys, Liz and Brandy getting run out of town like that. We'll all get the blame."

"But it's not right" I said stubbornly, folding my arms. "They're the ones with blood on their hands, they should face the consequences." Remembering kind of consequences Calvin dished out to Mel, I added quickly, "The legal consequences."

Pity clouded Eric's eyes briefly, then they hardened and his expression closed. "Would those wolves have killed without orders, Sookie?"

"Chico would have," I insisted. "The one whose neck you snapped. He was one sick puppy, a natural born killer."

"But the others, the two you want us to hand over to the police?"

"No," I admitted reluctantly. "They were just following orders."

"Then why punish them for what Tabner and his associates set in motion when it will hurt our cause."

I looked around. From their faces Daisy, Pete and Elaine agreed with Eric. My stomach churned. Maybe they were right and the ends justify the means. Lord knew I'd taken the law into my hands often enough, done things that would horrify most decent folk. But I just hated what they were considering.

Too bull-headed to give up, I clutched at a final straw. "What if Tabner's friends have proof the wolves killed those men. What if they release it and accuse y'all of lyin', shifting blame away from twoeys. That will make things a hundred times worse."

"She has a point," Elaine said.

"She usually does," Eric said with a faint smile. "We will extract a confession from the wolves and gather as much evidence against Tabner as we can. I'm sure the FBI would be very interested to hear they have a rogue agent in their midst. We can use that to leverage some concessions."

"Go on." Elaine was interested now. "What concessions?"

"A scapegoat of our choice for these murders. The arrest of Chosen operatives who have attacked us. Their prosecution, in public, for those attacks. That should swing opinion in our favour. Perhaps we could even have the FBI expose that Christmas wolf attack as a hoax organised by the Fellowship." He looked at me. "This is not a clean fight. War never is."

"Yes,," Elaine said, nodding grimly. "We have to fight as dirty as the opposition." _Just like politics._

"Good," Eric said, lifting a hand to end my protests. "Then it is settled. Let's sketch out a strategy before we meet with Stan in San Antonio."

…

"Sookie. You appear to be leaving."

I froze mid-step, the stairs to the parking lot a measly six feet away. Damn it. I'd slipped out when Thalia arrived, while the others were deep in discussion, but the last person I wanted to notice my escape had.

Cursing silently, I turned around and did my best to sound relaxed. That wasn't easy when I wanted to yell at him.

"Yes, Eric. I'm leaving."

It was just the two of us on the walkway, but I didn't want to be alone with him. Not when each second in his presence made it harder to bite my tongue, harder to stop my hands balling, harder to keep from tearing him a new one. And I was determined to leave like the lady I was, dignity intact.

"You are not coming to San Antonio," he observed, voice neutral. His expression was unreadable, the dim walkway lights casting harsh shadows across his face.

"No. I've done what Daisy asked me to do. She knows what happened to Hector. We stopped the murders. I interrogated Tabner for you. I've done my part." There, that sounded reasonable.

"You do not wish to see this through?"

Stick around so Eric could put whatever plan he had to disrupt my life into action? Not in a million years. Nor did I particularly want to participate in a conspiracy that I wasn't convinced was right.

I shrugged. "You and Elaine seem to have everything covered. You don't need me."

I couldn't quite keep a hint of bitterness from my voice and he looked at me for a long moment

"Be careful, Sookie," he said softly, tilting his head, gleams of light reflected in his eyes like stars in the night sky. "Memphis is not as safe as you think."

"Excuse me?" Was that a threat?

"Tennessee has plans for the tiger. I do not know the details, but I suspect no good will come of it for you."

"I can take care of myself." I smiled sourly, hating the reminder of Bardulf's games, hating that Eric must have a spy in Tennessee to know about them. "Meredith and Diantha are waiting. Is that all?"

"For now."

It took an effort of will not to snap at his arrogance. I turned to go, half expecting him to stop me, but he didn't. He just leaned on the railing, eyes hooded in shadow as he watched me take the stairs, cross the lot and get into the waiting car. I felt his eyes on me long after we pulled out of sight.


	48. Reunions

Thank you for all the reviews! What with the recent glitch I'm yet to reply to them, but I will directly.

Hot off the presses, chapter 48.

Yes, yes, there will be more Quinn. DON'T PANIC.

* * *

**Reunions**

* * *

Quinn wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight. His warmth, his scent enveloped me and I leaned into him, letting go of my suitcase and ignoring the busy airport around us. I needed him, needed that simple physical comfort that had always been easy between us.

_Pale, tired, but in one piece._

His thought was accompanied by a deep wave of relief that warmed my heart. He'd been real worried for me. With an appreciative rumble I felt more than heard, he murmured into my hair, "You smell great, babe."

"You too," I said, glad I'd had time to shower and change my clothes before the flight. We'd stopped in Houston to pick up my things from the Elysium. Diantha had said her good-byes there. Meredith had flown back to Memphis with me, but I'd been a terrible travelling companion, my anger at Eric festering into sullenness, and I'd barely spoken a word on the plane.

When Quinn let go of me, Meredith was nowhere to be seen and I didn't blame her.

"Let's get out of here," he said, taking hold of my suitcase and my hand.

"Yes, let's," I agreed.

Traffic was bad. Quinn kept his hand on my knee as we stop-started through the morning rush and while he drove I filled him in on the Hector situation, knowing there would be no talking once we got back to his.

We didn't even make it upstairs.

He pounced on me in the lobby and I was happy to oblige. Our clothes went flying, his shirt, my blouse. When he saw the bandage on my arm he growled, but I snapped back almost angrily that it was nothing. Then I took off my bra and dragged his attention back where it belonged.

Neither of us paused for breath after that. Quinn needed reassurance, needed to know I was okay, that we were okay. I wanted to forget the arguments we'd had at the summit, forget the mess with Bardulf, forget Tabner and his Facility, forget Eric, forget all that ugliness.

Forget everything.

The sheer enthusiasm in Quinn's eyes did a damn good job of that and if, as his heat and weight pressed me into the couch, he had a stray thought or two about Eric, thoughts that were less than charitable, so did I.

…

My hair, still wet from the shower, fell across my face as I added the last of my clothes to the washer. Quinn hummed appreciatively from behind me and I smiled to myself. The robe I had on was short and he was enjoying the view of my legs.

Not above enjoying the view myself, I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked over my shoulder. Quinn was a sight to see, leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb. The jeans he'd thrown on were undone, hanging low, and the sunlight streaming in the window tinted his skin a warm copper. After I'd taken my fill, I stretched forward to shut the washer. Bare feet padded across the floor and large hands settled on my hips as he nuzzled my neck.

_So glad she's back_.

The sigh I let out was tinged with regret. Quinn had taken the day off and I'd sure enjoyed my welcome, but we had things to do. My hands covered his as they slid to my waist, holding them still.

"We need to talk," I said. "About Bardulf."

He groaned against my neck and when I shivered he chuckled briefly, then sighed himself. "You're right."

"You know it." I turned in his arms and gave him a sweet, lingering kiss. "We can pick this up later."

He grinned. "I'll hold you to that."

In the den, I sat on the couch while he fetched a pile of papers from the safe in his office. "This is a copy of what Cataliades found in Finch's attic," he told me, laying them on the coffee table.

"A copy?" I said, picking up a few pages.

"Cataliades has the originals. Said they were more secure with him." Quinn glowered, not pleased by the implication he couldn't keep his house and therefore me safe from intruders.

"Right," I said, privately agreeing with Desmond that being cautious wasn't such a bad idea but not wanting to say so.

Quinn stayed quiet as I flicked through the sheets of paper, biting my lip in concentration. They were copies of a small notebook, Finch's 'black book' I reckoned. The first few pages seemed to be a contact list, a series of initials and phone numbers written in a cramped but legible hand. The next looked to be a diary of meetings: dates, times, those initials again. A handful, all with a C.M., were highlighted in orange and next to two of those ominous notes had been added in Desmond's neat script:

_Vagrant, male, 43, disappeared a week prior._

_Minor, female, 17, reported missing mid-July._

The rest of the pages were larger and full of figures, an accounts ledger that I would have found indecipherable if it wasn't for the bookkeeping I'd done for Sam. Desmond had labelled some of the larger amounts 'bribes' and 'cleaners'. I knew what that meant, cleaners for messes like the one Alexei created at…

No, I wasn't gonna think about Eric. I silently rescinded his invitation to my thoughts and slammed an imaginary door shut after him.

That mysterious C. M. appeared next to most of the cleaning charges, the dates matching those meetings highlighted in Finch's black book too. It looked like Finch covered up two murders for Bardulf, but did we have enough to prove it?

"Desmond said he was going to dig deeper," I said, frowning as I shuffled through the papers again, checking I hadn't missed anything.

"Uh-huh. Should be by sometime this afternoon with what he found."

"He's coming here, from New Orleans?" Diantha must have called him. Dear Lord, the poor man was ping-ponging back and forth across state lines for me and my problems. I owed him for this.

Quinn shrugged. "Said he didn't trust phones."

That made sense. Quinn's stomach growled and I grinned at him. "Hungry there, are we? How about I fix you some lunch before he gets here."

There wasn't an abundance of choice in the half-empty refrigerator, but I rustled up some omelettes. Quinn helped out, keeping me company. I always enjoyed cooking with him.

I'd just finished wiping up when there was a knock at the kitchen door. Desmond was standing outside in the lightly misting rain. I hadn't sensed him arrive, but then I'd expected him at the front porch.

"Sorry to intrude, my dear," he said, when I opened the door and stood there catching flies for a moment. His raincoat was wet across the shoulders and he was mopping his face with a large handkerchief, briefcase at his side as always. He glanced back at the trees and added politely, "May I come in?"

The tension in his face registered abruptly and I recovered myself, stepping aside. "Of course. Please do."

Once he was safely inside, I leaned out to scan the yard real quick. No-one around, not even when I stretched out my telepathy to its maximum, but he'd have checked that himself I was sure.

Quinn took his coat, and the three of us exchanged pleasantries as we settled around the kitchen table. Desmond took a long drink of the iced tea I'd had ready for him, unlocked his briefcase with a click and produced three slim files.

He spread them on the table and laced his hands over them. "This is what I have so far, but before we proceed it would be remiss of me not to impress upon you that blackmail is an inherently risky endeavour. Have you considered a more … permanent solution?"

Quinn's eyes lit up, but I squashed that idea real fast.

"There'd be a new king or queen," I pointed out, "and who knows what they'd be like. We could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire."

"True. There are other options you might pursue." Desmond's eyes were on mine, not Quinn's.

I shook my head. Niall couldn't be relied on to protect Quinn, only me, and if Desmond was about to suggest I throw myself on Eric's mercy again, he was fresh out of luck. Eric couldn't be relied on, period.

"_We_ appreciate the warning," I said, emphasising the pronoun. Quinn and I were a team. "But we're convinced this is our best option. Have you, um, done anything like this before? I mean if you can tell us."

"Not precisely like this." He beamed at me like I was his star pupil. "But, as you so correctly anticipate, I am not at liberty to say more than that."

I smiled back. "Then we're mighty pleased to have your assistance."

Quinn rumbled his agreement and squeezed my knee under the table. See? A team.

"Hm," Desmond said, looking at him. "Tiger, do you know what Bardulf has on you?"

"Not yet," Quinn said, his face darkening. "Not that Northman will need cast-iron proof."_ That fucker would cheerfully rip me apart for breathing wrong._

I nudged his ankle to remind him to cool his temper and for good measure gave him a look too as I said, "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. What did you find out, Desmond?"

"See for yourself."

He slid the files across and Quinn leaned in, wrapping an arm around me as I opened the top one, turning the pages slowly so we could both read it.

Details of a bank account in a woman's name I didn't recognise. Large transfers in and a series of regular cash withdrawals. Statements from a car dealership and a realtor, confirming cash purchases by the same woman. Transcripts of some steamy phone conversations between her and a man. Photos of a swanky apartment complex with a high-end sports car parked outside, a man in his late forties getting into it with a much younger woman.

Quinn whistled at the photos. "That's the BSA rep for Nashville, babe. And that for sure ain't his wife."

I thought for a moment, putting it all together. "I guess he reckoned getting his paramour to launder the bribe money meant it wouldn't be linked to him so easily."

The last page detailed where all that money came from, through a series of accounts and small businesses back to one that I guessed could be tied to Bardulf. Desmond gave me a small nod. He'd heard my thought. I asked out loud and he confirmed it for Quinn's ears.

"Good," Quinn said, grinning. "We have him by the balls."

"Perhaps," Desmond murmured. Worryingly, he didn't sound half as triumphant as Quinn felt. He indicated the other files. "Please continue."

Inside the next, a photo of a man was clipped to a missing persons form. Benjamin Greenslade looked a decade older than his real age, a hard decade older. His face was craggy and his cheeks and nose were an unhealthy dark red that spoke of too much time spent in the company of a bottle. He was holding a number against his chest; no-one ever looks great in arrest photos. There was an arrest sheet, mostly vagrancy and theft, minor felonies. No last known address, no next of kin.

At the back, a police report detailed a body that had been fished out of the river in Nashville missing its hands and face and so badly decomposed that it had stayed a John Doe.

I had a horrible feeling Benjamin's death had been worse than his life.

Shutting the file I looked up and asked quietly, "There's nothing to link this to Bardulf apart from those payments in Finch's diary, is there?"

"Not as such," Desmond replied. "But that should be enough to put a competent investigation on the right track. Further, I have reason to believe Mr. Greenslade was killed in one of Finch's clubs, one of the more … exclusive ones. There may be physical evidence still there should a search warrant be granted."

"I see," I said bleakly. Opening the last file, I swallowed hard.

A pretty teenager looked up at me from another photo clipped to a form. Mary-Lou Trenchant was smiling uncertainly, and as I read her paperwork I wondered if that uncertainty had been there before she ended up at the foster home she'd run away from three times in as many months.

Tearing up, I slid the file over to Quinn without looking at the rest of it. The pulse of revulsion from him was enough to tell me Mary-Lou had ended up dead too. I didn't want the grisly details. If I read them, I'd want to put that file in an envelope and send it to straight to her family so there'd be some hope of justice for her.

But I couldn't do that if I wanted to get us out of this mess. I took a deep breath, shoving disgust and horror to the back of my mind.

"Thank you for finding all this out, Desmond." My voice was steady at least. "How do you recommend we do this?"

Giving me a sympathetic look, the demon folded his hands on the table and sighed. "Bardulf will not take this meekly."

"No, I imagine not." Quinn squeezed my knee again and I gave him a weak smile.

"Blackmail is a blunt tool, my dear," Desmond said, his expression graver than ever, "and the longer you employ it, the harder Bardulf will fight it. I fear he may simply lose patience at some point and attempt to eliminate you both, despite Niall's protection. None of us want that."

"He won't touch a hair on her head," Quinn growled.

Desmond and I exchanged a look. Neither of us thought Quinn had a chance in hell of stopping Bardulf if he had a mind to kill me.

"We just need a bigger threat to keep Bardulf in line," I said, mildly affronted that neither of them expected me to have given our plans any great thought. I'd watched enough thrillers to know how these things worked. Gesturing at the files, I explained: "We'll make copies, give them to someone Bardulf can't touch, and tell him they'll be made public if anything happens to us." I paused. "I was hoping that someone could be you. Desmond."

"It would be better to keep my name out of this."

"Oh." I sounded as disappointed as I felt. I'd reckoned on Bardulf thinking twice about messing with a well-known supe lawyer, but I'd known it was a big ask.

Desmond shook his head. "No, Sookie. I am not unwilling, not at all. But if Bardulf suspects my involvement, he will move against me, tie my hands. I believe I would better able to assist you behind the scenes."

"We can find someone else." Quinn didn't bother to hide the sour note in his voice, or his thought that Desmond was a coward.

Desmond, unfazed, continued, "No matter who you use, Bardulf will search them out if he can, then kill them and destroy the copies. Anything to wrest back control. I fear you are underestimating his tenacity, his deviousness. This is a game of chess, one in which you must stay several moves ahead to survive. You will need more than copies stashed away to control him."

"So how we do to neuter the bastard?" Quinn asked, scowling.

"I am not entirely sure." Sighing, Desmond took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, then his neck. His shirt collar was damp with sweat and there was a faint tang of sulphur in the air. "Bardulf is arrogant. Unfortunately for us, that makes him unpredictable."

"Yes, he is arrogant," I said slowly. "He underestimated Finch because he was human. Bardulf won't think we can outsmart him."

"No," Desmond said thoughtfully. "But it will take more than a simple scheme to do that."

"We just need to do this in a way he understands…" I toyed with the files, thinking about the way Bardulf did things, how his mind worked. Bribery, murder. Reward, punishment. Half to myself I murmured, "Carrot and stick."

Quinn grunted. "Only stick I need is a stake."

"Ah," Desmond said, sitting up. "There is another phrase about sticks, is there not? Speak softly, carry a big one. Hm. Yes, that might be effective."

Simultaneously confused Quinn and I said, "Huh?"

Desmond smiled, eyes twinkling."Use too big a threat and Bardulf will lash out like a cornered beast. But start with something his pride can stomach and he may well co-operate, at least temporarily. Yes, yes. That is a good strategy. One that would give me time to set up a fail-safe in case things turn ugly. Yes, I think that is our best bet."

"So we start small," I said, "and if he stops playing ball, we bring in the heavy hitters."

"Yes, exactly." Desmond took the files, shuffled them and passed one back to me. Tapping the ones he'd kept, he said, "This is the big stick, the threat we hold in reserve, and" — he pointed at the file I had, the bribery one — "that will do our speaking softly."

I didn't understand his choice. Bribing a federal official carried a sentence of up to fifteen years ordinarily, but that had been raised to thirty for vamps on account of their longevity. First or second degree murder got life, but I was horribly afraid that a good lawyer could bargain that down to manslaughter, as had been done for other vamps in bloodlust. That carried a much lower tariff, and there'd been a case where the vamp only got four years.

"Why this one?" I asked, intrigued.

"The harshness of the penalty depends," he said solemnly, "on which authority hands it out. Human or vampire."

"Oh. And you think..."

"Human courts will not concern Bardulf. They have yet execute a single vampire and should they ever do so I expect it will be a quick death. Vampire authorities are … considerably less enlightened. Judgement of his peers is swift and ruthless. That is what Bardulf will truly fear."

"Amun won't go against one of their own," Quinn said, folding his arms. "Not over something like this. They'll close ranks, protect him."

"That would usually be the case, yes. Certainly Bardulf can claim that the bribe was a necessary expediency and no doubt other monarchs chaffing under the BSA's hostile scrutiny will be sympathetic. He will not anticipate a heavy penalty for that. After all, bribery is hardly a new crime, nor one confined to vampires, and it doesn't contradict how they are presenting themselves as ordinary men and women with a restricted diet." He chuckled briefly at that and then continued: "Greedy perhaps, corrupt, yes, but no more than that. He may face a hefty fine, but no more and Amun may even extricate him from a public trial to save face. The murders, on the other hand..." He spread his hands, shrugging. "Vampires do not want to be seen as monsters. Killings like these could tarnish them all."

He made a good case but I'd seen vampires treat human casualties with indifference, as acceptable collateral. Heck, Desmond had killed that antiques dealer and stepped right over his body.

I said doubtfully, "Wouldn't the vamps see two dead bodies as business as usual?"

"They will," Quinn growled in agreement. "Amun will give him a slap on the wrist, cover it up. I've seen it happen. If we go to them, we'll lose our ace and have nothing to show for it."

"Not in the current climate," Desmond replied. "The clans are increasingly strict about such slip-ups. Bardulf's actions will be seen as selfish indulgence, especially by those who are striving to set an example for their own subjects. And he did not cover his tracks at all well; older vampires will see that as gross incompetence. The penalty could be severe."

"Then," I said slowly, "if we threatened to take that to Amun, that'll push Bardulf too far."

"Oh yes. And if you took the murders to the police or the FBI Amun would still hear about it, so even threatening that could provoke Bardulf more than is wise." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Regardless, involving the human authorities would be a bad idea. Amun would not be pleased with you for exposing Bardulf's true nature. There would be … repercussions. We do not want that."

"No," I agreed, imagining ten states worth of vampires out for our blood. "Definitely not."

"We will have to use the murders another way," he said, "without Bardulf knowing we have proof of them."

Quinn growled, frustrated. "How the hell do we do that?"

"You don't, I do," Desmond said simply. "I will pass the evidence to a certain … contact of mine. Should we need to de-fang Bardulf, the information will find its way to the right people."

"Okay," I said. "I think we have the beginnings of a plan."

We spent another hour thrashing out details and when we were sure we'd covered all the angles, Desmond got up to leave. Shrugging his raincoat on he said, "I do not believe Bardulf knows I have been in Tennessee. Act normally until he contacts you and he will not suspect you have a counterstrike planned."

"We will." Quinn wrapped his arm around me and squeezed. "What do we owe you?"

"Nothing, dear boy. This is off the clock."

As Desmond smiled at him, Quinn thought:_ But this is my problem, not Sookie's. Guess he still approves of me … put in a good word with Sophie Ann in the first place… didn't have to do that …_

Oh, really? I'd always wondered why Sophie Ann picked Quinn as her messenger boy, not another vampire.

"Desmond, you've gone to so much trouble," I said, hoping not to offend him. "Can't we offer you something in return?"

"I will not hear of it, my dear. You are practically family." He patted me on the arm and sent me a clear thought:_ And one does not charge family, especially in a crisis. Think of it as making up for my earlier neglect._

"We should reimburse your expenses at the very least," I insisted. "I wouldn't feel right leaving you out of pocket. All this travel… It must be taking you away from your legal work too."

"The way I travel is free, my dear, and now I am not acting for Louisiana I have time to spare. Time to spare and the freedom to act as I wish. Vampires are such demanding clients." He winked as he opened the door and stepped out into the rain. "Besides, I enjoy the excitement. Makes me feel young again."

…

Later that afternoon, I made a difficult phone call to Liz Carter and her niece Brandy, relaying my condolences for Digger's untimely demise. Brandy's voice swung between defiant and choked as we spoke, and the call left me with a hankering to hear my brother's voice. Quinn was out fetching take-out, so I called Jason right there and then.

All was well in Bon Temps and hearing my nephew's voice in the background was just what I needed to lift my spirits. Re-energised, I sorted out the last bit of unpacking from my trip, hung up a couple of pant suits that needed to go to the dry-cleaners, and finally got round to emptying my toiletries bag.

I'd forgotten the small red velvet box at the bottom of it.

Opening it, I wrinkled my nose at the ring inside. The band was too loose for my finger, the rock far too showy for my tastes and the damn thing was just a big silver fuck-you to every vampire out there.

I loathed it, more for the ugly way I'd gotten it than anything else. Quinn had given it to me for all the wrong reasons. Was there a graceful way to return a fake-engagement ring without bruising the giver's ego?

A car sounded in the driveway; Quinn was back.

I snapped the box shut and left it on the dresser in my room, not wanting to ruin the evening. And there it stayed. I slept in Quinn's room that night, like I did most nights we were both in the house.

I was due at the book-store next morning. I'd cut down to three days a week over the winter, so taking time off to work with Quinn didn't inconvenience Ursula so much. The extra time I'd taken off after the summit had probably messed up the work roster something terrible, but that wasn't in her thoughts when she saw me.

"Sookie," she said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled at me over her glasses. "How lovely to see you. How was your trip?"

"It was great," I said, feeling bad about lying. She thought I'd taken a vacation with Quinn, which was easier to explain than being hired as telepathic security at a vampire summit. "How have things been here?"

"Good, good." Her mind was a touch … vague. Meredith's handiwork I reckoned, but then her focus sharpened and she added, "I must show you the book I found. It's a history of New Orleans told through women's lives. You'll love it."

We spent a little while catching up before I joined James in the store. He was sour-faced because I'd had so much time off, but his thoroughly normal reaction to my absence was a relief. I worked like a demon all morning to get the stocktaking done, a chore he hated, so he was all smiles by lunch.

It felt good to be back. After all the craziness of the summit, some routine was in order.

Over lunch in the break room, I asked Meredith if Miss Crenshaw was gonna be adversely affected by whatever fairy mind-trick she'd pulled on her.

"No," she said, between bites of the apple she was munching. "It's a clouding spell, that's all. She thinks you asked for a longer vacation than you did."

"A clouding spell?"

"Uh-huh. Clouds the memory. It's very gentle." She looked at me and frowned a little. "It won't affect her, Sookie. You're not the only one who's fond of Ursula, you know."

"I just wanted to be sure." I sighed, wishing my life was less complicated. But it could be worse, I could be locked in a cell like that poor girl in Nevada. "Any news on when Niall will be back?"

"Soon," she said, as James stuck his head around the door, signalling our lunch break was over. That afternoon I tidied some shelves that had gotten muddled and then, as the store was quiet, I worked on a tricky rebinding project.

Alone in the back room, I replayed Eric and Rory's argument in my head. It was like a broken tooth I just couldn't keep myself from poking.

I was still furious, but now that fury was mingled with bitterness and disappointment.

Some of that disappointment was directed inwards. I'd bolted like a frightened rabbit when I should have given Eric that piece of my mind, told him in no uncertain terms I was no-one's asset but my own.

The two of them had discussed me as if I didn't have a say in my own life and I hated that with a passion. It was too much like dimly remembered arguments my parents had over me as a child, back when I really didn't have a say in anything. Lord, what I wouldn't have done to get out of seeing doctor after doctor for those exhausting tests that only confirmed my 'craziness' for my mother.

Having no control was always my deepest fear.

And Tabner's plans for me had plucked that nerve raw. With that threat to my liberty fresh in my mind, every instinct had screamed at me to get away from Eric.

Now the dust had settled, I wasn't truly afraid of him. Sure, Eric was manipulative and opportunistic, but he would never use force. Not against me. I had meant something to him once and even if our time in Texas had left me wondering how well I ever knew him, I was sure I could still count on that much.

But between Eric and Bardulf, I was heartily sick of vamps thinking they could just stomp all over my constitutional right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

I was making my own life in Memphis and I was damned if I'd let anyone take it from me.

I shouldn't have let my guard down around Eric. Heck, that night in his office he'd gotten the impression I was flirting with him. That should never have happened. My mistake had been treating him as a friend instead of a centuries-old vampire king with an eye for an asset that would benefit his kingdom.

I wouldn't do that again.

Not that I would be seeing him any time soon, not if I had anything to do with it.

I had other priorities anyway; I should be second-guessing our plan to contain Bardulf or guilt-tripping myself about what was happening inside those concrete cells in the desert. And that was where I turned my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.

…

That evening Quinn's cupboards were bare, but I found some chicken in back of the freezer and had a hearty home-cooked Southern meal waiting for him when he got back from the office with absolutely no word from Bardulf.

Over dinner, I remembered his stray thought about Desmond and Sophie Ann, and asked him about it.

"Not much to tell. I was down in New Orleans right after the Longtooth contest, working a job for Sophie Ann." He looked a little sheepish. "I asked Jake about you, what he knew about a telepath up near Shreveport. In the day, this was. At those offices Sophie Ann used. Cataliades was around and he must've overheard. Or someone told him. You know how it is."

I did. Gossip was a favourite pastime for supes. Jake Purifoy stirred up a sackful of mixed feelings for us both, so I let it drop. The atmosphere was already balanced on a knife edge; we expected a call from Bardulf any minute and I was itching to put our plan into action.

But vampires never did anything on a schedule convenient for me. That night was disappointingly uneventful. The next day, a Saturday, I pulled into the drive after long day at work, made longer by a trip to the store for groceries. Tired and grouchy, I exited the car and Niall appeared out of nowhere, dressed in a grey suit, his hair shining in the fading evening light.

"You wanted to see me," he said without so much as a hello.

"Good afternoon, Niall. Lovely to see you, I hope your trip went well."

Having demonstrate my manners in the hope they'd rub off on him, I went to the trunk before my politeness edged into outright sarcasm. Niall came to stand beside me as I opened it.

"Meredith tells me you were hurt." He looked me over. "You are recovered?"

If he was so worried about my health, why did he insist I go with Daisy in the first place? Especially after that hissy fit he'd thrown over how dangerous the summit was. Inconsistent much?

"Yep," I said shortly, balancing a bag of groceries on my hip as I reached for another. Then I reminded myself I needed a favour and that sweetness was better than vinegar. "I'm just fine, Niall. But I appreciate your asking."

"You are kin," he said, as if that explained everything. He leaned over the trunk to inspect its contents. "Hmm," he said as he stared curiously at a tub of Cool Whip poking out of a bag. "No lemons?"

"Not today," I said and smiled to myself as he cautiously gathered the remaining bags in his arms. Niall could be sweet too, when he made the effort. I led the way into the house, dumping the groceries on the kitchen counter. As Niall put his armful down beside me, I surprised him with a kiss on the cheek that was half manipulation, half genuine gratitude.

My thank-you gesture wasn't boosted by any fairy magic, but the smile that lit his face was like the sun coming out.

"I'll be right with you," I said, smiling back with real affection this time. "Just let me put this up."

He watched me move around the kitchen for few minutes and then, out of the blue, said: "Fintan was silver-tongued too. The gift came easily to him, even as a child."

I stopped, hand halfway to opening a cupboard, and stared at him in confusion.

"Oh, the charm thing," I said, once I'd worked out what the heck he meant. Meredith must have told him. "You think that's why I have it, because Fintan did?"

He nodded, but he didn't say anything else.

His enthusiasm was … underwhelming. Guess being 'silver-tongued' wasn't all that boast-worthy for a fairy. Not compared to, say, killing fairies with garden implements. He'd been proud as a peacock over that.

When I glanced at him again, he was staring into the distance with a wistful look on his face.

Oh. I guessed he was remembering Fintan as a child, or maybe Fintan's mother. Einin had meant a lot to him. Leaving him to his thoughts, I quietly emptied the next bag.

When I put the steak I'd bought for dinner on the counter, Niall came out of his reverie and eyed it with an air of mild disgust. "We have a tradition in Fae," he said. "A male brings meat he has hunted with his own hands to the female he is courting as a sign that he can provide for her."

"Is that so?" I was busy stacking cans neatly on a shelf and too distracted to take offence on Quinn's behalf. "Back home in Louisiana it's mostly men that hunt, women that cook. We're not so different."

He sniffed. "We do not wrap our food in suffocating layers."

"Just your hands," I pointed out lightly.

"Touché." He laughed quietly, a musical sound I loved to hear and hadn't heard enough of lately. The sound died and, serious again, he said, "Northman was with you in Texas. Is that what you wish to speak about?"

"Meredith tell you that too, did she?" I asked, wondering how much she was reporting to him.

"No, Daisy Riverstone. If the vampire offended you, I will see it doesn't happen again." His eyes were sharp, scrutinising my reaction, and there was ice behind them.

I turned away to wash my hands at the sink, drying them slowly on a cloth. Should I tell him what I'd overheard?

No. Niall's solution was likely to be more final than I'd like and Pam, for one, would never forgive me. I could deal with Eric myself, however much I wanted to strangle him.

If his plans for me ever amounted to anything. That seemed less likely with each passing day, now I was in Memphis and out of his reach. Maybe I'd read more into what I'd overheard than it warranted.

"No, nothing like that," I said, turning back around. "But I do need your help with something."

"You trust me." He looked inordinately pleased about that. "What do you need of me?"

"Something big." I leant back against the counter and proceeded to share everything I knew about Tabner's shadowy Agency and that hellish Facility of his.

As I'd hoped, I didn't need to use Niall's affection for me to stir him to action. He was furious, so furious I glimpsed his true self more than a time or two as I spoke, that cold and terrible beauty beneath the human form he wore.

Mind you, he wasn't furious, as I was, at the kidnapping and abuse of American citizens. He was furious that Tabner had planned to put his great-grandaughter in a cell and that humans were close to discovering Tinkerbell might be more than a fictional character.

But I'd take that if it got that hell-hole shut down and Niall swore to do everything in his power to see it was.

He was particularly outraged with Felipe de Castro. No vampire king would let something like the Facility exist in his territory without investigating. Neither of us believed for a moment that Felipe didn't know exactly what what went on there.

That was a big faux pas apparently, broke some important vamp-fairy treaty. Vamps were not to let humans find out that fairies existed and if discovery was imminent they were to warn nearest fairy bigwig.

Which would be Niall.

Felipe's failure to do that would come at a steep price, judging by the glitter of malice in Niall's eyes.

Felipe was already on his shit list for ordering Lanzo to kill me if he got the chance — Daisy had blabbed about that too — and by the time Niall left, I'd gotten the distinct impression Felipe's nights were numbered.

Couldn't happen to a nicer guy as far as I was concerned. Felipe didn't seem likely to leave me alone any time soon, so I found it hard to care what happened to his caped ass. I just hoped that Niall used that notorious fairy cunning to kill him in a way that didn't start a war.

Felipe was a bonus anyway. Rescuing those poor people was my priority. Fretting about them had been disturbing my sleep.

Now I'd handed the baton over to Niall, I could concentrate on neutralising Bardulf. I had enough on my plate with that.

Not long after Niall left, Quinn walked in. Funny how that always seemed to happen, as if Niall knew just when Quinn would be back. He was later than usual, too.

"Sorry, babe," he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "Got caught up at work." He saw me glance at the dark window and shook his head. "Just Bertolini. He wanted to go over the expenses from the summit. Nothing from Bardulf."

"Damn." We had all our ducks in row ready for him. Well, maybe a few quiet days wasn't so bad. The last few weeks had been hectic. "Wanna help me cook? I picked up some steak."

"Sure, I could eat a horse. Not like I haven't done that before…" He laughed at my grimace. "Gotcha!"

"Oh, you jerk!"

"Now, moose on the other hand," he said, his face completely straight, "that's another matter. I remember one full moon—"

"John Quinn," I gasped, throwing a wet dish cloth at him. "Quit teasing me!"

The cloth hit him full in the face and I only half-swallowed a chuckle as he spluttered to a halt.

Yep, a break was definitely in order. We needed to blow off some steam.

Putting on my best scowl, I sassed him deliberately: "Now put on an apron and get cooking, buster."

Quinn peeled the cloth off real slow and wiped his chin on his sleeve, eyes on me. "No-one," he fake-growled, folding the cloth slowly and painstakingly into a neat square, "but no-one orders me around in my own kitchen."

Before he could exact his revenge, I reached behind me into the sink, scooped up some sudsy water and, quick as a flash, threw it at him. Hit him right in the chest, too.

He froze, staring at the foam sliding slowly down his front in disbelief, the cloth he'd been about to throw at me still in his hand. The wetness spread outwards over his shirt like some strange ink blot and I dissolved into a fit giggles at the stunned look on his face.

Then he lunged at me with the dishcloth and I squealed, bolting for the door.

6675words


	49. A Waiting Game

Thanks for the reviews everyone, I love hearing your thoughts. This one might rate another 'Don't Panic' warning...

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**A Waiting Game**

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Our much needed R&amp;R lasted through most of Sunday. Through waking up in Quinn's bed, through the late brunch we cooked together and ate in that bed, and through a lazy couple of hours watching trashy TV in the den.

"You hungry?" I asked, stretching. It was mid-afternoon and we were on the couch, snuggled under a blanket together. It was a chilly day, grey and windy, and I missed a fireplace. "I can make popcorn before the movie starts."

"I could eat," Quinn said, then grumbled under his breath, "God knows, I'll need the distraction."

He'd lost a game of rock, paper, scissors and as the winner I'd picked a movie that was a real chick flick. Chuckling at his pout, I gathered our empty cups from the coffee table and went to fix our snack. The phone rang as I crossed the hall.

Yelling "I've got it," I snagged the cordless handset and clamped it between my shoulder and ear. "Quinn and Stackhouse residence," I said cheerfully, juggling the cups as I opened the kitchen door with my hip.

"Hi, Sookie. Is Quinn there?"

"He sure is. How are you, Frannie?" I set the cups down on the counter. Frannie called her brother every so often. She was pleasant enough if I answered, though we never spoke for long.

"Good, thanks. You? Timas said he ran into you both in Louisville."

"Yes, he did," I confirmed automatically, rooting for the bag of corn in a cupboard. "He and Quinn…"

"Had words?" She laughed ruefully. "Yeah, I heard. Quinn pulled the big brother card, huh?"

"Something like that."

"I wish he wouldn't. I can fight my own battles."

"Well, he cares about you." I leaned against the counter, bag of corn in my hand. "But I know how you feel. Jason makes me madder than a wet hen when he acts like that."

"Yeah? But does he try to interfere between you and Quinn?"

Not lately he hadn't. "That's more than his life's worth," I said drily, putting the corn down. Then, curious, I asked, "How _are_ things with Timas? Quinn didn't make it worse, did he?"

"Oh, no. Timas has been extra nice to me lately. But don't tell Quinn that, it'll only encourage him." She laughed. "It wasn't his doing anyway. I gave Timas the cold shoulder for a week when he got back. Made him sleep in the spare room and everything. Even made him do his own laundry."

"Good for you," I said, smiling. Timas sure seemed the type that could benefit from a lesson or two in appreciating his wife. "Michelle says being in the doghouse always does the trick with Jason."

"Well, it works on Timas. He's so clueless about housework, you'd think his momma did his breathing for him."

Gran always said never take sides between a husband and wife, and that went double for in-laws. So I changed the subject before Frannie could badmouth her husband some more.

"How's school?" I asked, doing my level best not to sound jealous. She was taking Spanish as Timas and his family spoke it, and some biology classes with a view to training as a nurse or a physical therapist. The pack was funding it, I thought. Or maybe her father-in-law was, I wasn't real clear on the details.

"Pretty good. I got a B on my last essay," she answered proudly. "College is so much better than highschool."

"That's great, honey," I said with genuine warmth. "I'm real pleased for you." Frannie hadn't done so well in school. We had that in common, though the why-fores were different. She'd been an angry kid. I'd been distracted by everyone else's thoughts. While we did the asking after each other's family routine, I made my way to the den. Quinn sat up and grinned at me. He knew who it was, of course; he could hear her.

"Here he is, Frannie. Y'all take care now."

"Sure, Sookie. You too."

Quinn took the phone eagerly and I left him to it. As I stood in the kitchen, shaking the pan of corn on the stove, his deep laugh reached me over the popping every now and then. Yet when I rejoined him in the den he was subdued. He'd finished talking to Frannie and the phone was on the coffee table. Had they argued?

"Problems?" I asked, snuggling back under the blanket and balancing the bowl of popcorn between us as I snagged the remote and switched channels. The movie was starting in ten.

Quinn rubbed his face and sighed. "Frannie booked flights. For the party."

Oh, right. Mama Quinn's big six-oh. Quinn and Frannie were throwing her a surprise party.

"Oh honey, I'd forgotten all about that," I said apologetically. Shoot, that was only three weeks away. I'd lost track, what with the summit and my side-trip for Daisy.

And Quinn was planning to have the party here, in Memphis. In Bardulf's territory. Imagining how many things could go wrong with that, his mama going on a rampage surprisingly not uppermost in those imaginings, I said hesitantly, "I don't know that's such a good idea right now."

"I know," he said, scowling at his hands. "But Frannie's real excited and I didn't have the heart to rain on her parade."

"Maybe we could relocate it?" I suggested, cringing at the idea. He shouldn't have to. Not because of me. Because telepaths were so damn valuable that all the vampires from here to Timbuktu wanted to get their fangs into me.

"It's too late to switch venues." Quinn looked up, jaw set. "Frannie got hold of a few of Mama's old friends from up north, people she hasn't seen in years. They're flying down specially."

"I don't know, Quinn..." I trailed off at the stubborn look in his eye. No, now was not the time to say that bringing Mama Quinn into the mix was like lighting a firecracker and praying it wouldn't explode.

His face clouded as if I'd said that aloud. "Mama's finally stable, doing real good," he insisted. "Frannie's settled too, making something of herself. They deserve this. I can't take it away from them, Sookie."

"I know, but…" I tried an appeal on safety grounds. "What if Bardulf decides blackmail isn't enough? What if he goes after them? We'd be putting them in harm's way."

He shook his head. "Bardulf wouldn't dare. They're under New Mexico's direct protection and Camargo will be here."

"Couldn't we postpone it, just until everything's settled?"

"It's all arranged." His hands clenched into angry fists. "No way am I letting the damn bloodsuckers ruin this. We just have to muzzle Bardulf before then."

"And if we can't?" I insisted. "If things are still up in the air—?"

"They better not be," he half-growled, "or I'll kill the fucker myself." _I've killed for less. _His thoughts turned dark then, filled with dust and rubble, and Andre's snarling face, and he got off the couch abruptly.

The movement tugged on the blanket. Cursing, I grabbed for the popcorn bowl a second too late. Kernels scattered onto the floor as Quinn stalked out of the den, leaving me to pick up the mess. The front door slammed. He'd gone to prowl the park, walk off his temper.

I wasn't in the mood to watch a chick flick after that. Movie abandoned, I dumped the popcorn in the trash and laundry occupied the rest of my afternoon. I was in my room putting the last of it away when Quinn knocked on the open door. I didn't look up from the t-shirt I was folding.

"Hey, babe," he said quietly. "Sorry I bailed on you." He shifted under the sharp look I gave him and cleared his throat. "I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you. None of this is your fault."

"No. You shouldn't have," I said grimly, reaching for another shirt. Even if the situation we were in _was_ because of me. "I feel rotten enough about you getting dragged into all this without you laying into me, Quinn."

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "You've got nothing to feel bad about, babe. We're a package deal. Anyone tries to hurt you, they got to get past me. That's how it is."

I shrugged, still too mad to forgive him despite his pretty words. Besides, knowing he was willing to stand by me was as guilt-inducing as it was gratifying.

"This is Bardulf's fault," he said with quiet insistence. "And we're going to stick it to him. Together. Right?"

"Yes. We are. " I gave him a reluctant smile. "Together. We're a team."

"Yeah, a team." He eyed me, weighing up my mood. "I'll start dinner, shall I?"

"Yes, you do that. I'll be down shortly." I nodded at the dresser beside the door, where that red velvet box was still sitting. "Take that with you, would you?"

Giving him the ring back now couldn't spoil the mood. Bardulf had already done that.

…

The party gave us an uncomfortably short deadline. By mid-week and no contact from Bardulf, I was ready to scream. The store was closed Wednesday and sitting in the house twiddling my thumbs didn't really appeal. Luckily, I had yoga class. Lord knew, I was in sore need of some relaxation.

My spirits lifted as I pulled into the lot. The class unwound me some, but going for coffee with the girls afterwards proved less restful. I found myself obsessively checking other customers, dipping into their mental chatter. Bardulf was bound to have someone watching us, but I hadn't spotted any of his goons yet.

Eventually, I gave up scanning the tables and paid attention to the girls from class. As usual the conversation was light and gossipy, but something was off. Donna was the only one who seemed herself. Julie was even quieter than usual, Helena was a no-show and Kate was overly perky without her best friend, smiling too brightly.

If Bardulf had gotten to one of them, he wouldn't need a goon.

Dipping into Kate's head first, I wished I hadn't. Helena had had a big bust up with the guy she was seeing behind her husband's back. She wasn't answering her phone and Kate was afraid her alcoholic friend had fallen clean off the wagon and into a lake of margaritas. Kate wasn't letting the rest of us in on that, though. Oh no, everything had to stay perfect in Kate and Helena's warped little Stepford-esque world.

Her head was full of the usual self-delusion, but there was no sign glamour had been used on her.

Donna was all aglow about moving in with her werefox girlfriend at long last. That was swell and all, and she really as happy as she seemed when I peeked at her thoughts, but I could've done without the visuals accompanying the racy details she was sharing out loud. Meredith was egging her on too, giggling like the twenty year old she hadn't been for sixty years. I shot her a frown, but she just winked at me and refused to take a hint.

That just left Julie. Outwardly, she was smiling and seemingly pleased by her friend's romantic success. Privately, she was dwelling on a job interview that had gone badly and a call from her dad. He'd insisted a vegetarian diet was unnatural and they'd had a nasty fight, full of bitter recriminations. The poor girl hated conflict and she was real cut up about it.

At least Julie could still call her dad.

The latte I was sipping tasted bitter all of a sudden and I put it down, biting at my lip. Julie's delicate features reminded me of the girl Tabner was holding in Nevada, the girl whose parents thought she was dead from what I'd gotten out of his head. How could I sit here gossiping while that poor girl was shut away from her family suffering God only knows what deprivations? I didn't even know her name, couldn't even track down her family to offer them some comfort.

I sure hoped Niall was all over that. I should call him, see how it was going.

"Penny for them," Meredith said, nudging me.

I startled and she laughed quietly. The others were getting up, already leaving. Hurriedly gathering my things, I said my goodbyes. Meredith followed me across the lot; her car was parked near mine.

"You were distracted today," she said once we were alone. She tapped her temple. "Were you listening to them?"

"So what if I was?" I said defensively, caught on the back foot.

"It wasn't a criticism. It's good to see you using your talent." She looked at me intently and I just knew she was using some fairy guardian trick, checking up on my emotional well-being in a strange and intrusive fairy way.

"Hm," she said, frowning slightly. "You're very tense."

"Just adjusting back to a quieter routine," I said, rooting in my purse for my keys so I could avoid her eyes. I didn't want her getting wind of the mess with Bardulf. She'd want to help, or worse tell Niall. "After the summit, I mean. All that supe excitement."

The look she gave me was far too piercing for my liking. "Yes. Nothing like an ex-husband to stir up … excitement. Is everything okay with Quinn?"

"Of course. We're fine. Everything's fine," I said breezily, wishing she'd ask about something else.

As if she was the telepath, she did. "You saw Niall. Did that meeting not go to your liking?"

"It went okay, I guess." Seeing a chance to throw her off the scent, I went on: "It's hard for me to understand him, you know? What with our, um, different upbringings and all. He mentioned that charm thing, but he didn't say much about it. Only that Fintan was good at it."

"Niall was fond of Fintan, by all accounts. I expect he is pleased you have that in common with his son." She tilted her head and examined me. "I can teach you how to use it if you'd like. It wouldn't take long, just a couple of afternoons. I'm free on Friday."

"Um, sure. But not this week," I said hurriedly, scrambling for an excuse to put her off. "I'm still catching up on shifts. And beauty sleep. Vampire hours don't do a girl any favours."

"Oh, of course." She shuddered. "All that death around you, I don't know how you could stand it. Are you free this afternoon? I was planning on getting a manicure. You're welcome to tag along."

"Sure, why not." It beat sitting in an empty house.

One excellent and successfully relaxing pamper session later, I had fabulous nails and an evening to myself. It was poker night and Quinn, following Desmond's advice to carry on as usual, had gone to Dylan's. I left Niall a message, ate a microwave dinner for one and found a chic flick to watch, which I enjoyed shamelessly without male company. After that, I caught up on a cooking show I liked. Halfway through an episode, the phone rang and I stared towards the hall like a deer in headlights.

Bardulf.

No, Niall calling me back.

It was neither: Linden, the local packmaster calling for Quinn, gruff and displeased to find himself speaking to me. Still sore over those wolves who died guarding me six months ago I reckoned, but I didn't begrudge him that. Making children fatherless was a lot to forgive. I took a message, respectfully minding my p's and q's.

Shortly after, Quinn called to say he'd be a while longer beating Dylan's ass and taking all his money. Hearty male laughter exploded in the background and Quinn sounded lighter than he had in days. Happy that we'd both gotten a chance to unwind, I took my latest romance to bed, eager to find out how the heroine escaped her dastardly kidnappers. Sleep overtook me with the girl still locked in a dark cellar and the dashing sea captain battling a storm to reach her in time.

…

Moonlight shone through a high barred window, casting pale distorted shadows on a dirt floor and sketching silver edges on rough stone walls and a sturdy door. The kidnappers were outside, their voices a low mumble. I strained to make out the dark corners of my prison, but I couldn't see a thing. I looked at the window again, could I reach it?

It was different. Stretched, taller. And lower now, at floor level. No, it wasn't a window. It was a pair of doors, with square glass panes. I recognised them, but I couldn't quite... Was that a low table, the outline of a chair? The den. I was in the den, lying on the couch.

In the dark. With a body over me. Quinn, warm and heavy.

"Mmm," I said, "you came to rescue me." Relaxing under his weight, I tilted my head to bring our mouths together and lost myself as our lips meet.

His kiss made my toes curl. Something hard and uncomfortable dug into my shoulder. What was I lying on?

Ground, hard-packed and dusty. The stench of hot metal and burning hair hung in the air. Two arms caged me, protected me, the body above me a solid barrier between me and harm. My hands slid under a heavy jacket, traced the familiar muscles of his back. Cool skin warmed under my touch, just as his cool lips warmed from our deepening kiss.

It felt so good, so right to have him pressed against me. Soft hair tickled my ear, fangs scraped my tongue teasingly. I moaned into his mouth, shifting under him. He broke off and said huskily, "Oh, do that again."

Those words, that voice...

Eric!

The shock catapulted me awake. Someone was in bed beside me in the dark. Disorientated, heart pounding, I reached out an urgent hand. It tangled in the sheets and it took forever to fumble it free. When I succeeded at last and my fingers hit an arm, I gasped in relief.

Quinn. Real, solid, warm. Here.

Snuffling softly in his sleep, he rolled over and threw an arm over my waist. The smell of bourbon and cigars washed over me, grounding me in reality as he murmured my name. I hushed him and once he stilled, slipped out of bed. Downstairs, I poured a glass of ice-cold water and gulped half of it down in the light spilling from the refrigerator. Closing the door and leaning against its coolness, I pressed the glass to my forehead as if its chill could freeze my whirling thoughts.

Shepherd of Judea, that dream was a doozy. Why in Heaven's name had I dreamt of Eric?

I spent a good few minutes telling myself my subconscious was a law unto itself and I couldn't be held responsible for the nonsense it threw out. It was just a dream, that was all. A girl couldn't stop her libido jumping up and down while she was asleep. Then I leaned my head back against the fridge and groaned softly.

_There's no-one here to lie to Sookie, only yourself._

In all honesty, there was more to it than hormones. Twice I'd risked my life for Eric's. At the summit without a moment's thought and again, more deliberately, when we were facing Tabner. I'd spoken to Iowa and Rory on his behalf too, practically begged them both to have mercy on him much as Pam had begged me all those years ago.

I let out a long sigh and allowed myself to admit it.

What I'd said to Iowa was true: I did care about Eric. I cared what happened to him, and cared deeply. But that didn't mean we'd work as a couple. There was just too much against us for that. Not just Iowa and Rory, or Eric's position as king, or the wide gulf between our opinions of what was right and wrong. There was also our past, a past that still lay heavy between us.

Realistically, we didn't have a snowball in Hell's chance of fixing that. We were still the same stubborn people who made those mistakes; neither of us had changed and I doubted we ever would. Lions and gazelles don't change their colours any more than leopards change their spots.

A vague yearning for some grand lost romance just wasn't enough. Especially when that romance hadn't lived up to those grand expectations even when we were together, and it had little hope ever living up to what I wanted for myself. No, I was a grown-ass woman and I had to live in the real world.

It was time to put that impossible yearning away, in the box with other childish things.

…

Quinn was cheerful the next morning. I made waffles and in between syrupy bites he talked about his Mama's party as if Bardulf didn't exist. I played along, faking smiles that would have been real under other circumstances and hating Bardulf for spoiling what should have been a happier occasion.

Linden had been calling about the party. He owned a barn out of town a ways, hired it out to local twoeys for weddings and such. Really pretty place, Quinn said, on a parcel of land big enough that nosy neighbours weren't an issue if folks wanted to shift. Quinn wanted to do his Mama proud and, event planning being what he lived and breathed, he was going all out. Hiring the barn, tracking down a great band, even working on Marcie to persuade her to cater. That would be a real feather in his cap; Marcie didn't hire her kitchen staff out to other venues.

In my book a gal supported her boyfriend even if she didn't get on well with his family, so I offered to organise the decorating. I finished at the store early that day and used my free afternoon to make some calls. Halfway down my to-do-list, Niall rang to updated me. Things were 'progressing on the Nevada issue' as he put it, but it would be a week or so longer before he could wrap things up.

He was snippy. I apologised for bugging him and explained I was just worried about the folks being held there against their will. In case he, being a fairy and all, didn't realise that I, being human, was anxious to see my fellow humans freed.

"Yes, yes," he said dismissively, "but these things take time. Better to prepare the ground than be mired in the swamp."

"I thought that hell-hole was in the desert," I said, momentarily confused.

He chuckled. "It is a saying of ours. Swamp as in the, ah, political difficulties I must navigate, Sookie."

"Oh. Because you can't go in all guns blazing without revealing fairies to the world?"

"Yes, that. And," he said, a hardness creeping into his voice, "I cannot give de Castro the punishment he deserves without starting a war. Thus I have to act through others and that is tricky and time consuming to arrange."

"I get it," I said ruefully, "and I'll try to be patient. You'll let me know as soon as it's all over?"

"I will," he said. "Take heart, great-grandaughter. That place will soon be no more and that will be because of you."

That did make me feel a little better and that evening found me in a better mood. Quinn was real happy with the progress I'd made on the party and to keep the peace I even refrained from mentioning Bardulf.

The topic came up anyway, because I got word from Desmond Cataliades: everything was in hand at his end and Plan B was good to go if our blackmail scheme backfired. I promised, again, that I would keep in touch – he'd set up a way for me to contact him nightly and anonymously, as he couldn't very well send Diantha to keep an eye on things without tipping our hand. He was surprised that I'd heard nothing from Bardulf, but we both felt sure it would only be a matter of days.

The next morning it seemed we were right. I had a voicemail from Bertolini. February's schedule had been kept deliberately light after the summit, but there were a couple of events coming up in March that he wanted to go over with me, could I come into the office about nine that evening? I was sure Bardulf would pounce while I was there and I spent the day in a state of nervous anticipation. When I arrived Quinn was at the front desk, chatting with Dylan and the receptionist, an older African-American woman. Kiandra was a bitten were with an easy laugh and an unquenchable thirst for office gossip.

"Hey, babe," Quinn said. _No sign of Bardulf yet._

"Hey, honey," I said, offering my cheek for a kiss and hoping I looked as relaxed as he did. His mind was clear and calm, ready for action in a way I was not. I'd scanned the building twice before I even got out of the car. "How was your day?"

"Good. Not much going on here."

Dylan held his hand to his chest dramatically. "What are we, chopped liver?"

"Oh hush, Dylan," Kiandra said, slapping his arm and chuckling. "You know all we got going on is water-cooler talk. Dylan always bring me the juiciest news, Sookie."

"Yeah?" I said, smiling at her. A distraction might settle the butterflies in my stomach. "He tell you anything good?"

She folded her ample arms on the desk and leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Shawna in accounts is doing the dirty with the new guy in the mail room."

"Oh my," I said, shooting Dylan a raised eyebrow. He just shrugged and thought at me: _Can't help what I smell. _I pulled an 'Ew, gross!' face at him, but Kiandra, in full flow, didn't notice any of that.

"He's a mighty fine specimen," she continued with a wink, "if you know what I mean. And half her age. Lucky bitch. Shawna will chew that boy up and spit him out, mark my words." Then her eyes took on a malicious glint and her mind a gleeful hue, even though she kept her expression innocent. "I hear there's another big vampire shindig in the offing. We were just teasing Dylan for being way off-base about that. Lost a bet with the boys in accounts, didn't you Dylan?"

Quinn shifted slightly and I picked up he wasn't happy about where this was heading without reading his mind. Dylan was none too pleased either; he'd lost fifty bucks over whatever it was.

"A guy can't catch a break," he said sourly. "I thought for sure Iowa and Minnesota would be hitched before the end of the year. Those two were thick as thieves that last night in Louisville."

Oh shit. I knew where this was going.

Quinn's eyes darted to me, his mind pulsing with an apology tinged with curiosity, the sort of curiosity that was kissing cousins with jealousy. I kept my smile firmly in place as I riffled through Kiandra's mind. She'd expected this hot piece of gossip to rattle me and I wanted to know why. I'd been careful never to mention my history with vamps around the office.

Kiandra was busy chuckling at Dylan's misfortune. "Genius here," she said to me, "thought Iowa batted for entirely the wrong team. Turns out she's deep in negotiations with Louisiana and looks like they'll be the ones tying the knot. I hear he's a mighty fine specimen too." Her eye cut slyly to the side. "Say, you're from that neck of the woods, aren't you Sookie. You ever run into him?"

"Oh you know me, Kiandra." I smiled and shrugged, batting my eyelids modestly. "A lady never tells."

She knew, the bitch, knew way more than she should. Knew Eric and I had been pledged, even knew he'd divorced me for Freyda. And what Kiandra knew, the whole office knew a hot minute later.

Clarabel had told her. Clarabel, Bardulf's second and an even bigger bitch who never lowered herself to speak to bitten weres. Yet she'd taken the time to gossip with Kiandra about me.

To throw me off my game right before Bardulf pounced, I'd bet. This had his vicious fang-marks all over it.

Quinn, lips pursed, came to my rescue and made our excuses before Kiandra could stick the knife in some more. As I walked towards Bertolini's office, silently fuming, Quinn touched my hand.

_Don't want her unsettled. Bardulf will exploit it..._

As he searched for the right words to cool my temper I realised he was not only right, but also upset himself. By my anger, because he thought it meant something it didn't. Shit, we couldn't both be off our game.

"It's okay," I said quietly, aware of the ears around us. "Who Iowa marries is no concern of mine, Quinn. I'm just mad _someone _told that nosy bitch my business." I took his hand and squeezed. "Eyes on the prize, right? We have bigger fish to fry."

Pleased, he squeezed back. "We sure do, babe. You ready for this?"

Anger had chased away my nerves and I nodded resolutely. "Damn straight, I am."

Unfortunately, no fish were fried that night. Bardulf was a no-show and Bertolini was his usual affable self as we discussed a ragbag of upcoming pack and coven bookings. I could only hoped that my showing up at Special Events would provoke Bardulf into moving in for the kill.

And soon. I was itching to end this game of cat and mouse we were playing.

…

Quinn held the chair out for me like a gentlemen. It was Sunday and we were at Marcie's. There were candles on the tables, red roses for centrepieces and a live band taking requests. Valentine's was tomorrow.

"Thank you," I said, smiling at him. "This is just wonderful."

"You're a hard woman to surprise," he said grinning as he took his seat, pleased as punch with himself, "but it was worth it to see your face." _Missed that smile. All the crap we got going on, she needs a treat._

"'That's mighty thoughtful of you," I said, silently thanking Amelia for the spell that allowed him to keep things from me. "And sneaky, springing this on me a day early."

"You don't mind?" he asked, waving a waitress over. _Tomorrow's too risky. Hell, probably exactly what Bardulf's waiting for, a special occasion he can mess up._

The weekend had come and still nothing from that fanged menace to my sanity. The waiting had me ready to climb walls, and I'd worked at the store all day yesterday and run errands today to keep busy. Until Quinn ambushed me this afternoon with a beautiful bouquet of pink roses and an invitation to dinner.

A treat was just what I needed and nothing was going to spoil our date, least of all Bardulf, so I ignored Quinn's stray thought and answered his words. "I don't mind at all. As long as you don't mind waiting until tomorrow for your present."

His grin widened, lust flickering like flames in his eyes and his mind.

"Not that sort of present," I said quickly, my cheeks heating. Quinn looked mighty fine in his charcoal grey suit, but he'd have to make do with the card and sweater I'd bought this morning, as yet unwrapped. The shot was playing havoc with my cycle and Aunt Flo had arrived unexpectedly. First time in months too, damn it.

"I can wait," Quinn said, taking my hand across the table. "You look beautiful, babe."

"You're not so bad yourself," I murmured. He really did rock that suit, but it would look better on my bedroom floor. Quinn smiled as if he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone, but the waitress arrived before he could tease me about it.

Our meal was wonderful: oysters on the half shell, steak for Quinn, lobster for me, and a chocolate creation fit to die that we shared for dessert. The chef had really outdone himself. The conversation sparkled and flowed like the champagne and we talked about holidays we might take, places we each wanted to see, what college course I'd start in the fall and childhood friends Quinn wanted to visit in upstate New York. (That was where he and Frannie had been raised, something I'd been surprised to learn once we moved in together.) After coffee, Quinn took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and we took to the floor.

The man sure knew how to cut a rug, I can tell you. We danced to racy blues tracks and slow smoky jazz numbers alike, his hands firm and sure on my waist or holding mine as my feet glided through the steps, my head floating in a whirl of champagne and warm violet eyes. It was the perfect date. No bitten Weres jumping us, no interruptions. Just us, easy and natural with each other. This was how things were meant to be and it was worth dealing with all the supernatural jackasses to have it.

Back at the house, Quinn held the car door open for me. He kissed me on the porch step, sweet and gentle, the kiss tasting of a contentment that matched his thoughts. Inside he kissed me again, still sweet.

"Go on up, babe," he whispered. "I'll be right there."

Upstairs, I sat on the bed, took off my shoes and rubbed at the balls of my feet, yawning. I was pooped. Quinn came in and sat besides me, the tenor of his thoughts shifting and swirling slowly: blissful, calm, certain. I looked up, into eyes that glowed with affection as he reached over and took my hand. Turning it palm up, he slipped something small and square into it, covering it with his.

"This is a promise," he said, pressing whatever it was gently against my palm. "For the future, when the time comes, when we're both ready. This where I see us headed, Sookie, and I want you to know that. Same ring my grandfather gave my grandmother." He curled my fingers round it, squeezing my hand gently closed. "Keep hold of it. It's yours."

"Quinn..." My eyes filled. He was sure of us, real sure. I wasn't sure, not yet, not fully, but after tonight... I didn't know what to say.

"Hush, babe." He leaned in, brushed his lips against mine and said softly, "This is a promise, that's all."

When he'd slipped out of the room, I opened my hand. The box was dark green, worn at the corners. Inside, nestled in black silk was a beautiful ring. Gold, delicate, set with a modest purple stone a shade darker than Quinn's eyes. It was as perfect as our date.

"Oh Quinn," I whispered, blinking back tears. If he kept this up, I'd be ready sooner than either of us expected.

…

"A penny for them," said a voice from behind me and I flinched at the unexpected noise, jerking the cup in my hand. Coffee sloshed out of it, spilling on my jeans, and I cussed under my breath.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ursula gasped, rushing around the break room couch and taking the dripping cup from me. "I thought you'd heard me come in."

"It wasn't your fault," I said, hurrying to the sink in the corner to wet a cloth. "I was miles away."

"Yes, you were. You have been all day."

I could practically taste her curiosity, but I concentrated on wetting the stain and didn't reply.

Quinn had melted my heart last night, but the cold light of morning had dispelled my champagne-tinted glasses and filled me with doubt. I'd been spacey all day and Ursula wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Meredith had been driving me crazy, clucking over me like a mother hen and repeatedly asking what was wrong, coaxing but persistent.

I didn't want to share Quinn's romantic gesture with my fairy guardian. Or my uncertainty over what I should do about it. She'd already asked if it was Eric who'd unsettled me a couple times, and that fire didn't need fanning. But I wanted to confide in someone. Someone impartial, someone who wouldn't leap to conclusions. And that wasn't Meredith.

Boy, was I missing Michelle and Kennedy. Pam too. They always talked sense, even if I didn't listen to it.

Stain finally lifted, I rinsed out the cloth, grabbed a bunch of paper towels and sat down opposite Ursula. As usual she had a book open on her lap, but she took off her reading glasses and let them dangled on the chain around her neck as she watched me blot at the damp patch on my jeans. She didn't say a word, she just waited.

That, in the end, was what clinched it.

"Quinn gave me his granddaddy's ring," I said quietly. When I snuck a look at her face, she was composed, still waiting patiently for whatever I would say next, so I obliged her. "An engagement ring. The one his granddaddy gave his grandmother. Said I could keep hold of it until we were ready."

"And you're not," Ursula said, closing her book and putting it aside.

"No, not yet." Staring down at the wad of paper pressed against my thigh, I couldn't help imagining that gorgeous ring on my empty finger. "But I want to be."

"Are you in love with him?"

"No. Not_ in _love, no. I have affection for him. Deep, deep affection." Affection that could edge into love any day. I reckoned Quinn felt the same, but neither of us were rushing to put a name on it. We both had baggage and neither of us wanted to jinx it.

"Good." Ursula answered my surprised look with a twitch of her lips. "Oh, I know. We're all supposed to want romance, want to be swept off our feet, but I've seen people in love. Sometimes it seems to me that all that means is a do-anything-for-them craziness, a madness that is repented bitterly after the spell has passed. Love that grows out of affection is steadier, in my experience, lasts longer. Does he treat you right?"

"Oh yes. He's a good man."

"In bed too?" She laughed at my blush. "Forgive an old woman her curiosity. I wondered if there was a grain of truth to all that nonsense about his kind being amazing lovers, in touch with their animal side."

"Oh, um... Well. Let's just say Quinn and I are definitely compatible in that area."

"Good. If you're hitching your horse to his wagon, you want a smooth ride." She chuckled, deep and earthy, as I choked on my coffee. "So what's is holding you back, Sookie? Something about him make you uneasy?"

Apart from his mother coming to town?

No, that was unfair. Mama Quinn would only be here for a few days and she wasn't such a liability now, what with Timas and Frannie living so close and keeping an eye on her. Was it something about Quinn himself? I didn't think so. We got along just fine, that nonsense about putting his scent all over me aside. That I put down to Eric and the summit stirring up ghost from Rhodes best laid to rest.

"No. We disagree from time to time, of course we do." I shrugged. "But not enough to give me pause."

"Hm. Do these disagreements relate to him being… Two-natured is their preferred term, isn't it?"

I opened my mouth to deny that and grimaced. Human men certainly didn't stake a claim on a gal in quite the same way. "Some of our falling-outs are down to that," I admitted reluctantly. "There are things he does that I don't fully understand."

"Cultural differences aren't easy to overcome, I know. But you don't strike me as the type to get cold feet over that. Unless…" She tilted her head. "Is this about your ex-husband?"

Startled, I almost dipped into her mind. Then I realised what she meant: Ursula didn't know about Eric, only that I'd been married to Sam, and not much about that except he was a twoey and we'd run a bar together.

"You don't talk about him," she explained, her eyes filled with concern. "I assume it ended badly."

"It … wasn't pretty," I said slowly, scrunching up my nose. Maybe that was it. Bernie's constant interference had been no picnic and I could never be the shifter she wanted for her precious son. Maybe I was a little worried that Quinn's mom felt the same way, but there was plenty more than Bernie wrong in that marriage and I liked to think Quinn and I had a stronger relationship. I sighed. "Marrying Sam was a huge mistake. I guess I'm just reluctant to take that step again."

"That's only natural. But you can't judge one man by another, even if they are both two-natured. Are they very alike?"

"Sam and Quinn?" I laughed. "Not a bit."

"So it's not that. Hm." She chewed on the end of her glasses for a moment. "This Sam of yours, how did he propose?"

"Oh," I said, blinking. "Well, it was Christmas. He got down on one knee and whipped out a ring. Gave me the whole 'Would you do me the honour?' spiel right there in front of God and everyone."

"Everyone?" she asked, picking up on the slight bitterness in my tone.

"My brother and his wife, Tara and her husband."

"Who's this Tara?"

"A good friend of mine. Well, was." I sighed again. "We go way back, but we had a falling out when I left Bon Temps. We used to double date sometimes, the four of us. They were all there that Christmas, and they all knew Sam was gonna propose. Except for me."

"You don't sound too pleased about that."

"I'm not. Having them all there, it made me feel pressured." Buffeted by their feelings, their excitement, and I was sure Sam had set that up that deliberately. "Tricked into it," I added resentfully, thinking of a knife in a velvet bag and another so-called marriage.

"Quinn took you out for dinner, didn't he?" When I looked at Ursula in surprise she explained, "I overheard you telling Meredith. Was that where he gave you this ring, in a restaurant with a crowd of strangers as witnesses?"

"Oh, no. Not at the restaurant. At his house, when we were alone."

"Not the way Sam did things, then. No reminder of that. So what is it about this proposal that has you spooked?"

"Oh, it's not a proposal," I corrected. "It's a promise. That's what Quinn called it. A promise that he's serious, that marriage is where he sees us heading. When we're both ready, he said."

"I see," she said. "And he gave you this ring to keep hold of. So it's all down to you, ball's in your court. That's a heavy responsibility, no wonder you're petrified."

"Yeah, I am a little panicked," I admitted, laughing weakly. It _was_ terrifying, having the power to decide our joint future, make or break both our happinesses. "Does it show?"

"A little." She smiled, her eyes warm as she patted my knee. "Seems to me Quinn is giving you a choice, Sookie."

"I guess he is," I said slowly. Quinn hadn't stacked the deck in his favour like Sam had, hadn't tricked me into anything like Eric. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Hm-mm. My advice is take your time; the man is obviously patient enough to wait. No need to rush into anything."

"Thanks, Ursula," I said, smiling properly for the first time that day. I didn't know if I was ready for what Quinn was offering, or if I'd ever be, but being given the time to think it over was a gift I wouldn't squander. "You talk a lot of sense."

"Ah, that comes with age." She smiled ruefully. "I've turned down more than one proposal in my day. I know how hard it is to break a man's heart."

...

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**A/N: **Yep, I went there. Yell at me in the reviews if you need to, I'm braced for it ;-)


	50. Show Time

Thank you for the reviews, as always.

I'm very pleased to say this story is through to the final round of the **YouWantBlood Awards, **and I'm amazed to be up for favourite author too. Thank you!

**20th October update: **Voting for the awards is now open until 22nd October. Next chapter of this will be up on 28th if all goes to plan, thank you for your patience.

* * *

**Show Time**

* * *

Valentine's night came and went without incident. So did the next.

I'd been back in Memphis a fortnight, and not a peep from Bardulf. The wait was a harsh lesson in the patience of those whose nights stretched endlessly ahead of them. To us mere mortals, a fortnight was an eternity and my nerves were stretched tighter than a drum.

The stress had better not kill me before I got to beat that son of a bitch at his own game. Pardon my French, but I was mighty frustrated with Bardulf's dilly-dallying. Some of us had lives to live.

Early the next morning, I got a cryptic message from Niall that the swamp was drier than expected, all was well, and he'd catch me up on the details next time we met. Good news, but it hardly put a dent in my frustration. Neither did yoga class and I declined another pamper session with Meredith afterwards, claiming cramps and an intense craving for chocolate.

In reality I spent the afternoon and my irritation on scrubbing floors and washing out cupboards. When I called Quinn at work he snapped and snarled like a wounded gator, so I wasn't the only one wound tighter than an eight day clock. I was at the stove when he finally walked in, an hour late again. His keys hit the counter with a loud clatter that made my shoulders twitch even higher.

"Still nothing," he growled. "That fucker needs to shit or get off the pot."

He was agitated, his mind jittery. Jittery, I realised, with a particular sort of excess energy that had nothing to do with our predicament. Shoot. I glanced at the calendar for confirmation. Yep, the full moon was Friday, two days away. How had I missed that? I'd been all over the place lately.

"You need to run tonight," I said shortly, giving the pan I was attending one last stir before I turned to face him.

"What?" His eyes flashed.

"Run. Tonight." I waved at the calendar. "Burn off that excess energy. You can't be off balance right now. That's exactly what Bardulf wants."

The huge grin that slowly took over his face shocked the hell out of me.

"Friday," he whooped, his mind pulsing with delight as he grabbed me by the waist and swung me around. "It'll be all over by Friday." _Two days and we'll have that fucker by the balls. Mama's party can go ahead, no need to cancel... _He pressed a hard kiss to my forehead. "Mm. What's for dinner, babe? I'm starved."

I wasn't so gleeful. "Horse," I said dryly and he laughed, letting me go.

"Funny, smells like pork chops to me." He brushed the hair off my face. "Don't look so worried, babe. This one's gonna go our way, I can feel it."

…

The summons came with the full moon, just like we thought.

As we pulled through the gates of Bardulf's ostentatious mansion, Quinn was positively chipper, spoiling for a confrontation. I was distinctly less enthusiastic. Oh, I was confident that we could knock Bardulf on his metaphorical ass, but only if we played it just right, and I was still pissed that his inability to take no for answer, so typical of vampires, had led us to this.

Clarabel was waiting by the fountain, pinch-faced in a white blouse and a tight black skirt that was almost flattering. She led us inside, past two vamps on guard who paid us no mind, but she didn't take the sweeping staircase up to the second floor like the last time I was here. Instead, crossing to the back of the lobby, she opened a door in the oak panelling there and started down a flight of stairs. Carpeted and well-lit stairs, at the bottom of which I could detect only one solitary void waiting on us, but still…

Basements. Nothing good ever happened to me below ground.

The hand Quinn put on the small of my back was accompanied by a pulse of encouragement and a message: _He wants us alive, babe. And I don't smell anything … funky down there. _So, squaring my shoulders, I followed Clarabel's bony ass down into Bardulf's lair, which turned out to be nothing more sinister than a media room.

A swanky media room with fancy concealed lighting and thick carpet underfoot, not a dank stone wall or torture implement in sight. Two large overstuffed leather couches faced an equally large screen. Bardulf lounged on one of them, idly tossing a remote in his hand. He'd gone casual for our tête-à-tête: his rock-star stubble paired with tight jeans and a dark silk shirt, unbuttoned at the neck.

"Sit," he ordered, flicking the remote to indicate the empty couch. "Clarabel, see there are no interruptions."

Bony-ass nodded sharply and left, the door shutting behind her with a sharp click. We sat down, Quinn making sure to sit himself closest to Bardulf and I was grateful for that small act of chivalry, even though I knew Bardulf could toss Quinn aside in an eye-blink if he really wanted to get at me. My guard up, I balanced primly on the edge of the couch, knees together and back straight. I'd worn a pant suit and flats in case things turned ugly. Quinn, in a suit, spread his legs insolently and leaned on them, hands dangling. The pose was deceptively relaxed; he was hyper-alert, his mind clear and focused.

Bardulf, the turd in tonight's punchbowl, looked me over as if I were a prize heifer, his cold blue eyes assessing every inch of me.

"What do you want, Tennessee?" I said before he could speak. He could kiss my ass before I'd call him your majesty. "This better not be another job offer. I've made it perfectly clear I'm not interested and never will be."

My attempt to steal the initiative didn't faze him in the slightest. Ignoring me completely, he spoke to Quinn: "We have a problem, tiger."

"What problem is that?" Quinn asked flatly, staring back at him.

"You know very well." Bardulf smiled and it wasn't pretty. "For your sake I hope your woman does too, or she's about to get a rude awakening."

"What is this?" I asked sharply, following our plan to act as if Bardulf had taken us by surprise, fuel that arrogance of his.

"Quinn here has been a bad, bad kitty." He tutted, shaking his head. "A very bad kitty. Participating in a plot to murder a king, no less."

"What are you talking about? What king?" Quinn's voice projected more outrage than he really felt, also part of our plan. Let Bardulf think Quinn was riled up, close to losing his cool.

"Why, Northman of course," Bardulf replied, sitting up fluidly, all his lazy indolence cast aside. His eyes glittered dangerously. "I don't know what's more insulting, that you went behind my back to offer your services to Nevada or that you thought I wouldn't find out about it."

"I did no such thing," Quinn said hotly.

"A denial. How tiresome. Naturally, I have evidence." Bardulf waved the remote at me. "Want to see it, lass?"

Quinn and I looked at each other. This was it.

"Go ahead," I said. Make my night, sucker.

"A wise choice." Bardulf drew his lips back in a smile that was more fangs than humour. "Not that you had any. Enjoy the show."

The lights dimmed and a projector mounted on the ceiling, a sleek modern thing, came to life. The noise I expected, the soft whirr of a rotating reel of film, never came and the silence brought a pang of nostalgia for the machine's obsolescent forefathers. Digital technology seemed cold and soulless in comparison.

That echoed something Eric had said to me, years ago, but I didn't have time to wonder at that. A corridor, much like the one in which Eric had made that comment, had appeared on the screen.

Concentrate, Sookie, this is important.

A caption announced '_Summit Venue, Louisville'_ in case I hadn't recognised the hotel from the décor. If the time and date that followed was to be trusted, we were looking at the day before the vamps arrived. A man in a rumpled suit hurried past, head down and then Quinn came into view, striding after him. The man stopped and turned his face to us.

Finch.

He leered and his lips moving silently. Another caption appeared: _After a woman are we, Quinn?_

Bardulf's voice came out of the dark: "There's no sound, but as you can see lips can be read. Pity your back is to the camera, tiger. Most unhelpful of you."

Whatever the on-screen Quinn said in reply, Finch's leer turned into a scowl. The captions continued, supplying his half of the conversation: _Yes, yes. I filled out the forms … Of course all my merchandise is legal. Do you think I'm an idiot?_ … _A booth on the main aisle, high visibility. And I better get it. … Good. Everything's set for Friday, then._

Friday. The day of the assassination attempt.

As the image faded, Quinn snorted. "That doesn't prove a damn thing. It was a routine check. Finch had a stall at the trade fair."

"A stall he used to make contact with the werewolves who attacked Louisiana," Bardulf said, his voice grave. "And hardly routine, I think. Your assistant Dylan dealt with the other stall holders. Why speak to Finch yourself?"

"Because Finch was a sleaze," Quinn said, "and Geiszler didn't want any fall out with the cops. I took care of it myself. Made sure everything was above board."

"Made sure Finch got what he wanted," Bardulf drawled softly out of the darkness.

"He put in a request," Quinn said, indignant. "The hotel handled the allocations."

"Of course they did. And you didn't smooth the way at all."

"I don't see any evidence here," I interrupted, glaring in Bardulf's direction even though he was no more than a faint silhouette. As a scare tactic hiding in the dark was wasted on me, but not being able to read his expression ticked me off. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms and the sting dissipated some of my irritation. "This is a waste of time, Tennessee."

"Don't judge a play by the first act, petal." His teeth flashed in the dimness, catching the reflected glow from the screen. "There's plenty more to see yet. This next clip is silent too, but you'll find it speaks for itself."

Another hotel corridor, this one crowded with people. Quinn's bald head bobbed along above the throng and as he came into sight, a girl darted out of a group of women and grabbed his arm. She smiled broadly up at him. A skinny thing, her hair dyed red but showing dark at the roots.

Quinn stiffened beside me. I couldn't ask why, but he'd told me to read him whenever I needed to. Dipping into his mind, I got an impression of a hot, sunny day, dusty city sidewalks and cars honking. And a single thought: _Shit, Gloria._

Whoever Gloria was, he obviously knew her well because the on-screen Quinn let her drag him into a quiet corner for a lengthy chat, their heads far too close together for any lip-reading. Gloria flicked her hair, pouted and smiled as they spoke. When she laid a hand on his chest I itched to smack it off of him, but on-screen Quinn stepped back smartly and, by the way her face fell, gave her the brush off in no uncertain terms.

Good man. I let out a silent sigh of relief, but the real-life Quinn beside me didn't unbunch his panties one bit, his mind still churning uneasily. Shit. There had to be more to it than this Gloria treading on my toes. Then it dawned on me who she must be.

_The _donor. The one Finch murdered, the one whose room the werewolves hid in.

I hadn't got a good enough look at her body to recognise her without the ugly bruises, but Quinn told me he'd bumped into her, that he knew her from when she'd worked for Special Events in Atlanta.

From what I'd just witnessed they'd been more than work colleagues, that was for damn sure. Quinn had neglected to mention that and I restrained an unladylike desire to give his ankle a swift kick. Not a good idea when I could feel Bardulf's eyes on me. No doubt he was watching us like a hawk, ready to swoop on any sign of disunity.

Damn him to hell. My poker face was getting a work out tonight.

"Gloria Honeypot," Bardulf said, his amused tone breaking the silence just as it became intolerable. "A stage-name, of course. She was christened Kimberley Tate. A stripper turned blood donor, and an old flame of yours I believe, tiger. Whatever were you discussing so intently, the day before she was killed?" The couch shifted under me as Quinn leaned forward to speak, but before he could say anything Bardulf's oily voice cut him off. "Oh, don't bother making up another excuse. They bore me. Let's move on, shall we."

Next, we saw Quinn discussing staff rotas with the head of maid service. Her office was wired for sound and when she named the laundry service the hotel used quite distinctly, Bardulf gleefully informed us that Kentucky had tracked down where the twoey assassin had gotten hold of a maid's uniform: it had been stolen from that very laundry. Then, in another silent clip, we saw Quinn stop a porter wheeling a stack of supplies down a service corridor. After a brief conversation, Quinn liberate a case of bottled water and waved the porter on.

"That is the same brand of bottled water found in Finch's room," Bardulf practically crowed. "Laced with poison."

"That was for the green room," Quinn growled. _Shit. He's got this all sown up. _He shifted restlessly on the couch again, his mind swirling faster, rippling with unease and frustration.

"Was it," Bardulf said flatly. "Easy for you to palm a bottle and slip it into Finch's room."

"Anyone could've done that," I said firmly, willing Quinn to stay calm a little longer. "That water was all over the hotel."

"Louisville PD have the bottle in their evidence locker," Bardulf said. "It was wiped clean of course, but there are ways of finding out who came into contact with it. Ways the police do not have access too."

"Really," I said calmly, ignoring a hot pulse of anger from Quinn. "You seem so sure that would incriminate Quinn here. As if you, oh, I don't know, planted that bottle."

Infuriatingly, Bardulf's response was an amused chuckle. "Now why would I need to do that, when I have so much on tape. Contact with Finch, contact with Gloria, knowledge of the laundry, the hotel, and access to the water," he listed relentlessly. "That is more than sufficient to prove opportunity."

"But not motive," Quinn's voice rumbled out. "Why would I want Northman deader than he already is? I've taken what I want from him."

His hand, hot and heavy, descended on my knee and squeezed. I put mine over it and smiled sideways into the darkness at him, presenting a picture of unshakeable unity. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, asshole. A silver pipe, and I hoped he choked on it.

Bardulf chuckled again as the screen lit up. "Oh, but I believe you have plenty of motive, tiger. And I can prove that too. Take a look."

We sat through more footage, each clip increasing Quinn's agitation. First we saw Quinn approach Eric. Two of them disappeared into a restroom, Neb on point, waiting outside with his arms folded. Eric soon exited in a blur and Quinn with a scowl, kicking at a trash can. Next I watched with a sinking heart as Quinn and Jephson, Eric's head of security, bowed up on each other backstage, in the green room. When that was followed by an angry exchange with Eric too, I almost groaned out loud. Then the pièce de résistance: shaky cell phone footage, complete with sound. It showed Quinn and Dylan bellied up to the hotel bar, beers in hand, their voices clear enough over the general noise:

"_Man, don't let the deaders get to you," Dylan said, taking a sip of his drink._

"_A stake is too good for that arrogant fucker." Quinn's hand clenched around the bottle he was holding and he shook his head, scowling ferociously. "Northman has been a thorn in my side for too long. World would be a better place without him in it."_

My stomach fell. That was just about the worst thing he could've said. Quinn hissed beside me, his mind a whirl of anger and self-recrimination._ Damn those Weres from security. How the fuck did they know about Sookie being pledged to him anyway? Shouldn't have let them yank my chain, shouldn't have let Northman get to me..._

Shit, he was hot under the collar for real now.

So was I. Sweat was beading uncomfortably on my neck and in the small of my back, prickling in my hair. The low-ceilinged room was stifling and airless, but I was sure I'd seen vents when we came in…

The son of a bitch had turned the air off.

Of course he had. Vampires were immune to fluctuations in temperature. Just another trick to shorten Quinn's temper I reckoned, and I was damned if I'd ask Bardulf to turn it back on. I'd rather pass out than give him the satisfaction.

I was mighty glad Bardulf didn't know about that pheromone Felipe had got a-hold of. If he had, he'd have the air on full, pumping it out. Quinn was stronger than a wolf, had more control over his shifting, but even he couldn't fight biology. If he went feral and attacked Tennessee in his own house, I had a strong suspicion supe law would not be on our side. Hell, something like that would probably give Bardulf carte blanche to kill Quinn and demand my lifelong servitude in recompense.

That did not bear thinking about.

The lights came up and, blinking in the brightness, I took a discreet peek at the ceiling. Yep, vents. Sneaky son of a bitch.

"You have quite the grudge against Louisiana, don't you tiger?" Bardulf said, sweat-free like the lizard he was. He smiled viciously at Quinn, then ran his gaze over me, lingeringly. "A murderous grudge at that. But what man wouldn't, having had to share his woman with him. That must have stuck in your craw, tiger. Whose idea was it that she weasel her way into his bed? I'll wager it was hers. Makes you wonder just how much she enjoyed it, eh?"

Quinn snarled at him, "What the fuck—?"

My hand clamped onto his knee, my nails digging hard into his flesh. That was our signal, the signal that meant calm the eff down. Thankfully, it shocked him into shutting up.

Just barely, though. Quinn seethed with questions, his mind spinning rapidly as he attempted to make sense of Bardulf's words. I, on the other hand, was much calmer. I already knew Bardulf believed I was some sort of Mata Hari figure, cosying up to Eric on Felipe's say-so while I was really with Quinn all along.

I hadn't quite got round to telling Quinn about that. It seemed so far-fetched and I couldn't explain how I'd discovered it, not without admitting I'd helped Neb interrogate Finch. That might lead to why I was in Eric's suite that afternoon, and that was can of worms that needed to stay tightly shut. A ten-gallon can.

The best way to divert both Quinn and Bardulf was to go on the attack, so that's what I did.

"How in the hell did you get all this?" I hissed, gesturing at the screen and then folding my arms. That was another signal: for Quinn to take a back seat and let me handle things. "Did Kentucky give you every damn surveillance tape he had?"

"No. Isaiah has no hand in this." Bardulf smiled wickedly. "Although I rather think he would kick himself about that. It's amazing how many cameras he put in that hotel, isn't it? I had a … friend, shall we say, conveniently place on his staff."

Of course he did. Had he planned to frame Quinn from the start, as soon as he agreed to help Felipe kill Eric?

Maybe he had. Desmond was right, Bardulf was a devious bastard. I needed to draw him out, make sure we knew everything he had on us, make sure there was nothing to come back and bite us in the ass later.

"Everybody knows Quinn and Eric hate each other," I said, thickening my accent. Let him think I was upset, scared. "That ain't news. Everything else you've got is circumstantial and it don't add up to a hill of beans. You ain't even shown Quinn was in cahoots with Felipe."

His quiet chuckled filled me with dread. There was more?

"Ah, yes," he said, leaning back lazily and throwing a leg up onto the couch. "Nevada. Now that is something the cameras didn't catch, sadly. But technology is so diverse these days, isn't it?" Smiling like he wanted to bite my heart right out of my chest, he flourished the remote dramatically and pressed a button. "The coup de grace, Miss Stackhouse."

A crackle came out of the speakers, a phone rang tinnily and was picked up.

"_Alvarez househol__d," _a voice answered. An older woman, Hispanic. No-one I recognised, but Quinn was frowning, confused.

"_Hey, Maria. Just returning your call. How are you?"_ That was Quinn.

"_Oh, John! How good to hear your voice. You are at the summit, yes? Working hard, as always."_

"_Uh-huh. Burning the candle at both ends. What about you? How's your son?"_

"_Much better, thank you. And your family, they are good?"_

They chatted some about Frannie and his mom, then something about a recipe this Maria was gonna send him, compared notes on the weather for a while and hung up. Whole thing lasted five minutes tops and seemed a perfectly normal if somewhat dull call.

Except I had no clue who Maria Alvarez was.

As the recording finished Quinn fired thoughts at me machine-gun fast: _Maria is a nurse. Retired now, worked at Whispering Palms. Her and Mama were close. She calls now and then, see how Mama's doing. That's all._

But she's in _Nevada_, I wanted to yell back mentally, didn't you think that might look suspicious?

Bardulf sure did. Gleefully triumphant he said, "The call was placed from hotel reception to Clark County, Nevada, barely an hour after the attempt on Louisiana. To this Maria Alvarez, passing on who knows what coded message."

"There was no coded message," Quinn said, fists balled. "I was returning her call. She's a friend."

"A friend," Bardulf said, eyes glittering with malice, "whose cousin Eduardo is head of security at de Castro's largest casino."

A bolt of surprise rippled out from Quinn. _Shit, he is? I didn't know that. Is Maria working for Felipe? How long for? __Maybe she was forced into it. Fucking de Castro… _His mind became unreadable, a tangle of betrayal and doubts. Maria Alvarez looked so innocent in his memory, like a kindly aunt, and he'd never imagined she could be a plant.

It didn't matter if she worked for Felipe or not. As long as Bardulf could make it look like Quinn was in contact with Nevada, we were fucked.

Or we would have been if I hadn't read Finch and seen this coming.

Unfortunately, shock and anger were written all over Quinn's face. Bardulf, who was watching him closely, smiled to himself and turned to me. "The tiger and Maria have been in regular contact these last three years," he said. "I have her call history. They spoke almost every month, mostly from payphones, hotels. Twice from his own phone." He tutted. "That was sloppy of him."

"Those were innocent calls," Quinn gritted out, the planes of his face broadening as he fought a shift.

Shit.

"Were they?" Bardulf said coolly. "We'll never know, will we. It was only chance this one was recorded."

I began to protest half-heartedly, my attention on Quinn, but Bardulf cut me off.

"No more denials." Eyes hard, he waved at the screen. "All this makes for a persuasive case and should it fall into Northman's lap, he will demand the tiger's head. As things stand, I have no grounds to refuse him."

He paused to let that sink in. Then his eyes caught mine and a familiar pressure squeezed at my temples. "Perhaps," he said, "Northman will begin to wonder how long you've been working for Felipe, Miss Stackhouse. Imagine how furious he will be once he realises how deeply he's been duped, eh? He does so hate to be betrayed. There'll be no mercy for either of you."

Quinn growled, the sound so loud I felt it vibrate in my chest.

"You bastard," I hissed, clamping a hand around Quinn's thigh as if he might launch himself at Bardulf. That wasn't far from the truth, but Quinn was still himself enough to think:_ Go for the jugular babe. I'm done listening to this crap._

"Check mate, lass." Bardulf chuckled coldly. "Even your pet fairy won't save you. I can't see Niall lowering himself to beg mercy for a fur-ball like the tiger here, can you?"

"What do you want?" I asked harshly.

"I knew you'd see sense. You're the brains of this delightful little partnership, aren't you?" His smile was gloating. "You can start by call me your majesty. You need to get into the habit."

My lip curled.

"Don't sneer, lass. I'm not a monster, it will be a mutually beneficial arrangement. One where you put your fabulous talent completely at my disposal, and I pay you a reasonable rate. A very reasonable rate as the tiger gets to keep his head. With an occasional taste of your blood thrown for good measure, I think. I hear it's divine."

Quinn growled again, vibrating like a bowstring. "Lay a fang on her, and I'll—"

"Ah-ah," Bardulf said, waving a finger. "None of that. You're not in a position to make demands, tiger." He examined me clinically, eyes tracing major arteries, lingering provocatively on pulse points. His lip curled derisively. "Frankly, I can't see the attraction. What's another busty blonde after you've had a hundred of them? She can donate into a bag for all I care." Then his face went hard and his voice sharpened. "As long as she behaves, that is."

Over my dead body. Time to end this. This was the moment of truth, and the moment of greatest danger.

"I don't think so," I said. My heart beat loud and fast, but my words were clear and strong. Pulling a flash drive out of my jacket, I held it up where he could see it. "I might look dumb, but I'm not stupid enough to move into your kingdom without insurance."

His fangs dropped. "What is that?"

"Evidence. A paper trail from you to a certain BSA rep and his mistress. A wide, blazing paper trail anyone with half a brain could follow."

Bardulf's face turned stony, his eyes glowing with rage as he snapped, "How did you get that?"

"Never you mind." I tossed it to him and as he caught it I stood, forcing strength into my legs, determined not show weakness. It helped that Quinn got to his feet right alongside me. "Why don't you take a gander at that and get back to me when you're ready to eat humble pie. We're leaving."

It took some nerve to turn my back on him. An itch started up between my shoulder blades and lasted all the way to the door, where I stopped and looked back. "And don't think there aren't copies of that. Make one move to force my hand or hurt as much as a hair on Quinn's head, and that will land in the BSA's in-tray faster than you can spit."

His face flickered with the beginnings of a snarl, but he controlled himself, smoothing it back into a blank mask quick as a wink. But not quick enough. I smiled to let him know I'd seen his reaction. A tight smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Remember," I said warningly, "I have powerful friends. Friends it would be better for you not to piss off. And who knows, maybe we've got more dirt on you. Better be careful, Bardulf."

That was as much of a hint at Plan B as I dared make, as much of one as Desmond thought I could get away with safely. Praying it would be enough to stay Bardulf 's hand from any violent retaliation, I held my head high and swept out of the room, Quinn protectively at my back.

Amazingly, no-one stopped us leaving.

Outside the cool night air was a welcome relief after the stuffy heat of the basement. My hands shook as I got into the car, but I stayed silent until we were half a block away. Then I let rip, spitting cuss-words as I let go of the fear and anger I'd been bottling up. As my tirade wound down, I slapped at the dash, wishing it was Bardulf's face, and hissed at the pain. "Goddamn vampires! I'm so effing sick of their games. Where the hell do they get off, thinking they can take over my life."

Quinn laughed wryly and reached over to take my hand, rubbing at my stinging palm with his thumb. "Preaching to the choir, babe," he rumbled out. "I've felt that way for years. You were fucking magnificent in there, Sookie."

He was buzzing with triumph and admiration, and more than a little lust.

"Thanks," I said, smiling at him, "so were you. Turn the air up, would you? That asshole was trying to cook us into submission in there. Shame for him that I'm a Southern gal. We can take the heat."

He laughed again, his eyes shining with pride. "You sure can, Sookie, you sure can."


	51. Family

Thanks for the reviews as always. Not totally happy with this chapter, but it is what it is and I wanted to get it to you today as I'm dropping down to once a fortnight from now on. Let me know if any typos snuck past me.

* * *

**Family**

* * *

We heard nothing more from Bardulf that night. The next morning Quinn lingered on the driveway, car keys in hand and eyes scanning our surroundings as I waved to Mr and Mrs Pattersons, the elderly couple from next door.

"They okay?" he asked quietly.

"Not a thought out of place. Unless you count him wishing she'd stop yapping on about what a nice young couple we are."

Quinn didn't laugh and the parting kiss he gave me was a fraction longer than usual, but those were the only outward signs he was on edge. Neither of us believed Bardulf would back down easily. Still, we got into our respective cars and headed out, me to the bookstore and him to run errands.

Tired, I stopped to pick up a coffee on the way. We'd stayed up late, spending my adrenaline and Quinn's full moon energy in a physical celebration of our success. Perhaps not the healthiest reason for making love, but it had certainly improved my temper and the pillow talk afterwards was calmer for it. Not that our conversation was an exchange of sweet nothings, it was a dissection of how things went. I'd taken the opportunity to ask Quinn why the hell he hadn't told me Gloria. He'd shrugged and looked me right in the eye.

"I didn't think it was important. The past is the past, Sookie. It was one night." _Not even a memorable night._

I'd caught his thought clearly because he hadn't moved away and there was plenty of skin contact between us. Making a fuss over his omission would be hypocritical, so I'd let the matter drop. Quinn wasn't the only one who hadn't mentioned uncomfortable truths. There were certain things I'd kept from him too, Eric-related things that I knew I should tell him but hadn't. Even though I knew better after my failed marriage to Sam.

Secrets were to relationships like mines were to destroyers. They lurked under the smooth glassy surface until you ran into one and then: Boom! A big hole below the waterline, and the whole thing sinks without a trace.

Trouble was, I just couldn't see a way to diffuse these particular mines without causing a whole mess of heartache. The drive to the book-store was far too short for me to come up with a solution and I sighed heavily as I parked. Gran's policy of keeping quiet sure seemed attractive. Well, tomorrow was another day. I'd think of something.

…

Mid-morning, a delivery man carrying a large bunch of deep red roses came into the store."For Miss Stackhouse," he said. Ursula smiled knowingly at me as I signed for them and Meredith teased me about my blush. Thinking Quinn was sweet to send flowers, I carried them to the break-room for some privacy to read the attached note.

I was thankful I did. They weren't from Quinn. Bardulf had signed the note with a flourish and it read:

_Well played, lass. We are at a stalemate. For now._

I snorted. 'For now.' That didn't sound at all ominous, and what was it with vampires and that phrase?

Slipping the note into my purse away from prying eyes, I returned to the counter to endure more of Meredith's teasing and Ursula's knowing looks. Best to go along with it and let them think it was some romantic gesture, I figured. Unfortunately, Meredith seemed to sense I was hiding something because over lunch she asked far too many questions about Quinn and me, and about the roses, even going so far as to ask if Quinn had something to apologise for.

All of which I fielded with the classic 'nunya', but I couldn't throw the roses in the trash without arousing her well-meaning curiosity even further, so I took them with me when I left.

Quinn did a double take when he saw them on the kitchen counter. I handed him the note wordlessly, biting my thumb as I waited for his verdict. He said it looked like our troubles from that quarter were over, but then he was inclined to take Bardulf at face value because he wanted to green-light his mom's party. I wasn't as convinced, but when I called Desmond to discuss it he seemed cautiously optimistic and so I didn't argue.

Beside, I knew Quinn wasn't being reckless with his family's safety as it seemed. He'd already spoken to Linden about putting some extra precautions in place while they were here. I'd heard him thinking about it.

That evening we met with Bertolini at the office to finalise my schedule for March. The Italian was his usual affable self and it was a short meeting. I agreed to two jobs, a local twoey wedding mid-March and a pack meeting in Georgia at the end of the month. As I gathered up the paperwork I needed to take away, Bertolini leaned back in his chair and watched me.

"Something wrong?" I asked, looking up.

Adjusting his cuff-links nonchalantly he said, "I am wondering how is it you have upset our beloved king."

"Excuse me?" I said, exchanging a look with Quinn.

"I heard you visited him on Friday." Bertolini smiled at me, a warm smile with only a hint of shark to it. "I also hear he has been in a foul temper ever since."

"Is that so," I said, shrugging. "I can't imagine why."

"I hope whatever you have fallen out over will not affect our arrangement," he said, his voice still warm but a flash of steel in his eyes.

"Not on my end."

"Hm. Others have paid dearly for frustrating Hugh Bardulf, but perhaps you will not. You seem to lead a charmed life."

"Well," I said, smiling wryly at his mention of charm, "I have a fairy to thank for that."

"Ah, your protector. Brigant. Yes, he is quite the deterrent." As he got up to leave he added, "Let's hope that remains so, for all concerned."

His eyes flicked to Quinn and I got a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. Had I put Quinn in danger? On the ride home, I suggested we should hire some guards, just for a while. Quinn argued that Bardulf would be a fool to try anything that weekend what with all the extra twoeys around from out of state, not to mention our threat to go to the BSA. If Quinn was at all anxious about retaliation he hid it well, and we were still debating the issue when we pulled into the drive.

"It can't hurt to be careful," I said as I undid my seatbelt and opened the car door.

"Ah, it'll be fine. I know vamps, and I know Bardulf. He'll be licking his wounded pride for a few more days yet. It can wait a week."

I got out, took a step towards the house and froze. My neck was tingling, that sensation you get when someone is watching you. Reaching out behind me with my telepathy, and then all around, I found nothing except our neighbours, all quietly asleep in their beds. Turning as if to speak to Quinn, I peered at the trees across the road. To my human eyes, there was nothing under them but shadows.

"Babe?" Quinn asked quietly from the other side of the car, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. He wasn't as relaxed about the danger we were in as he pretended.

I shook my head. "It's nothing. Someone walked over my grave is all. Let's get inside."

…

I was uneasy the next few days and the preparations for the party didn't keep me busy enough to distract from that. Quinn snuck out to the park across the street to nose around a few times in his other shape. Normally he only shifted outside city limits. Every time he was gone I wore a hole in the kitchen floor, worrying that he'd run into some of Bardulf's goons and come to harm, or that some passerby would call the police to report an escaped tiger.

Much to my relief, nothing untoward happened. All the scent-trails Quinn found were cold too: a couple of young weres had been through the park a few days prior, and there were faint traces of a vamp or two, but less recent and too faint to identify. Nothing under the trees opposite the house. The only thing he'd found there was a couple of dead birds in the undergrowth. They'd been dead a while and Quinn reckoned they'd been torn apart by a tabby, some well-fed house pet whose instinct to kill was sharper than its hunger.

I didn't get that sensation of being watched again, and after four days with no repercussions I began to relax. Well, as much as I could when Quinn's family were due any day. The party was set for Saturday, but Quinn's mom, Frannie and Timas were arriving Thursday. I took the day off and the house was spotless by lunchtime, but I was a ball of nerves. Thank the Lord they weren't staying with us. Frannie had rented a place nearer the party venue, further out. Timas was hiring a car too, but Quinn had gone to meet them at the airport anyway.

A clatter at the front door announced their arrival. A minute later they were all in the kitchen and we were exchanging over-loud, over-friendly greetings as we all shook hands. No hugs, but Frannie was smiling and Timas seemed relaxed. It was Mama Quinn I was watching though, as surreptitiously as I could. Our last encounter had not been a happy one.

She looked well. Tanned, more tanned than she'd looked on the occasion of our last meeting. Still gaunt, but not unhealthily so; she was a tall woman and rangy with it. Her hair was cut softer than it had been and professionally dyed, no sign of the grey I remembered at her temples. She was missing some of the hardness around her eyes too. Still, it paid to be sure. I brushed against her mind to get a read on her emotional state. She was … cranky. But not about to explode as far as I could tell.

Quinn got Timas a beer while I poured the ladies iced teas. Once everyone had a drink, there was an awkward lull in conversation. Mama Quinn looked around the kitchen with a bemused air and said into the silence: "I don't see why we had to fly out here just for dinner."

She didn't know about the party yet. Frannie wanted it to be a surprise.

"It's not just for dinner," Frannie said quickly. "We came to see Quinn, remember? Make a weekend of it."

"He could've come to us," she grumbled. Her mind stirred a little quicker, agitated and I held my breath. Quinn brushed his fingers against my back in a silent gesture of support.

"Quinn came to us at Christmas, Trudi," Timas said, moving over and patting her on the arm. Three things about that surprised me: that Timas, who'd struck me as rather selfish in Louisville, cared enough to do it; that it visibly calmed her down; and that he'd used her first name. "It's Quinn's turn to host," he continued soothingly, "give Frannie a break. Right, Quinn?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, wrapping his arm around me. "It's our turn."

"And we're happy to have y'all," I added, infusing my voice with warmth and my smile with sincerity. Quinn's arm, heavy and warm, made that easier, as did the pride rolling off him. I don't know if his mom bought it, but Frannie asked her what she most wanted to see while they were in town, Timas began to talk cars with Quinn, and the awkward moment passed.

By the time we sat down to eat, I'd relaxed enough to stop keeping a bead on Quinn's mom. Although I did adjust my shields so I could keep her in the corner of my mind's eye and mute everyone else. Enough to get a warning if she was about to go off like a firecracker, but not so much the mental chatter would distract me from playing hostess.

Dinner went reasonably well, I thought. I'd stuck with simple dishes I could make in my sleep: a pot roast and peach cobbler for dessert. Took the stress out of preparation and left me free to focus on the conversation, which was mostly inconsequential. Timas and Quinn discussed sports, I asked Frannie how her courses were going, and Frannie and her mom bitched about their flight and how busy it was in Memphis these days.

Timas finished his second helping of cobbler with a satisfied noise, wiped his mouth on a napkin and then gave me a dazzling smile. "That was delicious. You're a great cook, Sookie. You should give Frannie some lessons."

Frannie rolled her eyes. "Maybe I have better things to do than stand at a stove all day, Timas."

"Oh, this hardly took all day," I said modestly, "and Quinn helped some. He's pretty handy in the kitchen himself."

"Man should know how to cook, so he appreciates his wife," Mama Quinn said, giving Timas some stink-eye. "I raised John right."

"You certainly did, ma'am," I said, patting Quinn on the arm and wondering if she'd gotten sucked into Timas and Frannie's recent spat.

"Trudi," she said, pursing her lips and scowling at me. "Ma'am makes me feel old."

"Of course," I said cautiously, wary of the way her mind flared with irritation that matched her annoyed tone. Quinn beamed at her though, pleased and relieved, and I got the distinct impression he'd had a word with her.

Clearing my throat, I got to my feet and began gathering dishes. "Why don't y'all go through to the den while I clear up. Would anyone like some coffee?" There was a chorus of agreement, and I waved Quinn off when he offered to help. "Go spend time with your family," I said quietly under the noise of chairs scraping.

The room emptied except for Frannie. "You don't have to do that," I said as she carried some dishes to the sink. "I can manage."

"It's okay, I don't mind. Beside, I'm sucking up so you give me that cobbler recipe. It was pretty damn tasty."

"You don't have to suck up for that," I said, smiling. "You can have the recipe. It's not a big family secret or anything. Here, let me." As I took the dishes our fingers touched and I gasped.

The accompanying mental blast had taken me by surprise in more ways than one: Frannie's mind wasn't human any more; it was tangled and snarly.

She caught the dishes I'd almost dropped and smirked at me. "I wondered when you'd notice. Quinn reckoned you'd be able to tell straight away."

"We touched," I stammered, too shocked to say anything else. "I couldn't block it."

She tilted her head to the side, eyes widening. "If you touch someone, you just hear them?"

"Yes." Except for vamps, but I wasn't stupid enough to bring that up with Quinn's sister. I took the plates off of her and scraped them briskly into the sink.

"What about when you're with a guy and you're…? Ugh. That must be awful."

I raised an eyebrow at her as I flicked on the waste disposer.

She shrugged and pulled a face. "Some of the guys I've been with, the stuff that came out of their mouths was sleazy enough, ya know? Wouldn't want to know what they were thinking too."

She went back to clearing the table and I waited until she'd ferried the last of the dishes to the kitchen before I asked tentatively, "So, you got bit?"

"Not exactly." She leaned back on the counter, worrying at her lip while I rinsed out a dish out and fitted it into the dishwasher. Glancing at the door, she said quietly, "I'm not supposed to say, but Quinn said you can read twoeys pretty good so I figure what the hell… Timas's people are different, biting doesn't pass it on and it's not hereditary in the same way either. Puberty doesn't trigger it, they have to go through this … ceremony."

"A ceremony?"

"Yeah. Coming of age thing, like a baptism I guess. With blood." She wrinkled her nose. "New Mexico's blood."

I was amazed. "Drinking his blood can…?"

"Yeah. There's more to it than just guzzling it down, but yeah. Without it, they stay human. It's not just first-born either. Any of them can go through, as long as they make the cut. New Mexico's pretty choosy. And, well … that's what I did." She stuck her chin out defiantly.

She relaxed when I whistled softly. Tezcatlipoca sure wasn't your run-of-the-mill vamp (and there was a phrase I'd never thought I'd have occasion to use). As I shut the dishwasher and reached for the coffee, a mess of questions filled my head, clamouring to be answered. Why did the jaguars need New Mexico's blood? If he died, would the pack just fizzle out, cease to exist? How could it be his blood and not genetic like it was for other weres? It made no sense. As I scooped coffee into the machine and then switched it on, I wondered if Frannie would be a half-creature when she shifted like Jason was. Neither fish nor fowl, with all that entailed.

"Is it like being bitten, will you...?" I waved a hand, searching for a diplomatic phrase and failing to find one. Frannie seemed to understand what I meant though.

"It doesn't always take with outsiders, but I've got some supe in me already so…" She smiled shyly. "It could go all the way, a full shift. That's what Camargo reckons. Maybe I'll be a jaguar, or my genes will out and I'll be a tiger. No-one knows for sure. You can't tell, can you?" Her eyes were pleading.

"No," I said softly, sorry to disappoint her. "I can tell you're a twoey, but that's about it." I couldn't even detect a difference between regular twoeys and New Mexico's jaguars, who were clearly a breed apart.

It all raised some perplexing questions about how the magic of shapeshifting worked, but I put those aside as Frannie said, "Guess I'll just have to wait for the next full moon."

She was both excited and nervous about that. I just hoped she'd get more than the grudging acceptance Jason got from some of the Hotshot panthers. Reminded of what Fenton had done to my brother, I asked more sharply than I intended, "Did Timas pressure you into this?"

She shook her head. "Timas might be… well, Timas, but he's not like that. He's a good guy. I've been enough of the other kind to know, believe me."

I did. The angry girl I'd met at Rhodes was just the type to make a string of bad choices, but Frannie had changed since then, grown up. And Timas might be sulky and temperamental, and far too paternalistic for my tastes, but he was no worse than Jason, not really. Plus I wasn't the one married to him. Still...

Maybe it was none of my business, hell, it probably was none of my business, but I felt protective of Frannie, thrust into a world she was only half-aware of, and I couldn't leave it at that. "Camargo is a pretty forceful guy," I said, watching her face. "I imagine he's real pleased you did this."

She straightened up, frowning at me. "It's an honour to be asked, Sookie. They hardly ever offer this to outsiders. I could've turned it down, but why would I? To be honest, I've always felt shut out because mom and John have that in common, you know? And la familia has been good to me, real good."

Her mind matched her words and I softened. "Timas is good with your mom," I said, as a peace offering.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is," she said wistfully. "He acts like the man rules the roost, but you should see him with his own mom. He dotes on her. I guess that's why he just accepted ours, you know? Even with … how ill she was at first. He really hates it when mom and me fight too. Not that he doesn't fight with Camargo all the damn time." She rolled her eyes, laughed, and then sobered. "They accept me, Sookie. They're the family I never had. It was always just the three of us, and either mom was ill or Quinn was on the other side of the country."

"Family's important," I agreed, thinking of Jason, all I had left of mine.

"Yeah," she said softly, biting her lip again, suddenly unsure. After a pause to weigh up whatever she was considering, she said cautiously, "You know, Camargo quite likes you. I think, if you wanted … if you ever came out to Nevada … maybe they'd ask you to join la familia too." I must've looked as stunned as I felt, because she laughed nervously. "Well, if New Mexico agrees to it. He has final say. It was just an idea."

An idea that made me wonder why she'd raised it. "Frannie," I said slowly, "has Quinn got plans to move out to New Mexico that I don't know about?"

"Oh, no!" she said hurriedly. "No, he hasn't said anything like that. But he'll have to retire eventually, won't he? I mean, he's not getting any younger, and it's a physical job, and I figured— Just forget I said anything. It was a silly idea."

There was at least one other reason she might have brought it up. "This ceremony," I said carefully, "if you and Timas have kids, will it…?"

"Yeah," she admitted quietly, not meeting my eyes all of a sudden. "Our kids would be la familia, guaranteed."

"I see." I figured she'd had less choice than she made out about the whole thing, and I worried what her bringing it up meant for Quinn and me. We'd never had the talk about kids. He already had a son who'd grow up to be a weretiger and he knew things in that department hadn't worked out for me and Sam, so I'd reckoned us not being able to have twoey kids wasn't a deal-breaker. Now I wondered if it was, and Frannie was trying to offer me a solution.

Some of that must've shown on my face, or Quinn had told Frannie enough that she guessed what I was thinking.

"Oh shit. Look, that's not..." She shook her head violently. "It won't work the same for you, Sookie. You don't have twoey genes. I was just... I just meant that if you came to Nevada, la familia would welcome you."

"Oh. Well, that's nice to know," I said, with some relief. Although I doubted I'd be testing that welcome out any time soon.

Frannie smiled tentatively at me. "We'd welcome you, too. Me and mom, I mean. I know she's still being … a bit prickly, but she's just being protective. John hasn't had it easy and she still blames herself for that."

"I appreciate you saying that, Frannie." I looked towards the den and sighed. "Quinn had a word with her, didn't he? About me."

She grinned. "Read her the riot act in the car, told her to behave. You were pretty nervous, huh?"

"Little bit," I said, chuckling quietly as I grabbed a tray and reached for the full coffee jug. I was inordinately pleased that Quinn had laid down the law for me; I'd spent three years longing for Sam to do that with Bernie. As I got out the milk and sugar I asked, "You seem okay with us being together, Frannie. There was a time you weren't."

"Yeah, well. I was a stupid kid back them. John's way happier than he's been these last few years and that's all I care about. Plus you're not mixed up with any vamps now, right?"

"Nope," I said with more confidence than I felt, thinking guiltily of Bardulf.

Later, as we stood on the porch watching their car pull away, I asked Quinn if he approved of what Frannie had done. He waved one last time at the retreating headlights before he said, "It's better for her to be one of them. Has advantages."

He had doubts, I could tell, but he meant that. "What advantages?" I asked quietly as we stepped back inside.

"It gives her New Mexico's protection. And Mama, too. He can't threaten them to get to me ever again," he said, scowling as he remembered Camargo doing exactly that.

"But it puts her in his power too," I guessed, "and you don't trust him."

He shrugged. "Most packs, they work for vamps, but they can walk away any time. La familia is his. If New Mexico says jump, they ask how high."

He thought it was unnatural, that devotion, and it made him uneasy. I wondered, again, why Frannie had painted such a rosy picture of life in New Mexico. Perhaps Bardulf wasn't the only king who fancied having a telepath in his retinue. No doubt New Mexico would be pleased to have me under his thumb, now I knew how he was created. His history might reveal some weakness to those better versed in the supernatural than I was, and I was sure he, just like regular vampires, wouldn't want his weaknesses broadcast to all and sundry.

…

I didn't know what to make of Mama Quinn's friends. Wanda and Sherry sounded like a double act, but the two women who'd flown in from New York State were chalk and cheese, as different as their luggage.

Sherry's battered case threatened to burst open any second, a faded leather strap holding it shut. As Quinn lifted it into the trunk of his car with a grunt, she fluttered anxiously behind him, the bangles on her wrist tinkling. She was so thin a stiff breeze could knock her off her wedge heels and the deep auburn of her hair had to have come out of a bottle. She was the wrong side of fifty, judging by the lines around her eyes. Diantha would approve of her outfit though: her skirt was tie-dyed more colours than the rainbow. I rather admired her coat myself, a long velvet affair in a deep aubergine that didn't do anything for her colouring.

In contrast, Wanda's luggage was matching and brand-spanking new, as put-together as its owner and as conservative as her slacks and cashmere sweater. She apparently favoured dark, plain clothes, her chunky turquoise necklace the sole splash of colour. Her short hair was unashamedly grey, she was wearing comfortable flat shoes, and she was not about blow away unless a hurricane blew into town. She also had a husband she'd left back home, whereas Sherry was a three-time divorcee.

As Quinn fitted the last case into the trunk, Wanda said, "Now, Sherry, don't get in the man's way." Grasping the empty trolley by the handle she said to me, "Honey, show me where to return this, would you?"

"Sure thing, Wanda. It's just inside." She's already told me not to call her ma'am. Her directness reminded me of Christine, a lady I'd met at a funeral with Alcide, and I was starting to like her. Once the trolley was safely chained with its fellows, Wanda stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I know what you can do," she said.

Did she now.

"And I know what you are," I replied evenly. Wanda and Sherry were a werewolf and werefox respectively, according to Quinn.

She nodded, as if we'd just said how-de-do like normal folk. "Now, don't spare my feelings girl. Tell me the truth. How is Quinn's mom really doing?"

"Excuse me?"

"I figured you'd know what's going on in that poor woman's head better than anyone." She pursed her lips, clearly worried about her friend's mental state. Or perhaps her own safety, but I was sensing more concern than fear from her mind.

"What I can do," I said cautiously, "doesn't quite work like that, Wanda."

"That's a pity." She sighed. "From the way Frannie talks you'd think she was cured, but I don't believe that for a moment. Trudi had such a tough time after what happened, I never expected she'd survive it. The guilt over what Quinn had to do on top of it all... That almost finished her off."

Hoping to give her some comfort, I said, "Well, we only met the once before, but she does seem better than she did then. Calmer."

"Calm enough that this party won't end in disaster?" she asked succinctly. "If she has one of her episodes..."

"Timas has a way with her," I said, with perhaps more confidence than I had a right to. "He'll be able to calm her if something sets her off. Quinn visited with her at Christmas and he was real pleased with the progress she's making."

"You call him Quinn?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

I shrugged. "That's how he was introduced to me and it stuck."

"Hm. It does suit him." She turned and set off towards the doors so fast I had to rush to keep up. "He probably prefers it. John was his father's name."

I had a mind to ask what she meant, but before I could we were outside and Quinn was holding the car door open impatiently.

Quinn had never mentioned his father, not once, and he rarely thought of the man. The subject was obviously a painful one, so I steered clear of it. Wanda, however, was old enough to have been around when Quinn was born and her comment made me curious. Maybe I'd ask her about it later, if I had a moment with her when Quinn wasn't around.

We drove Sherry and Wanda to the house Frannie had rented. Trudi was stunned to see them. We stayed for a late brunch and Trudi was stiff at first, hesitant even, as if her social graces had gotten rusty, which maybe they had, all the years she spent in Whispering Palms with only nurses and patients for company. But the more they talked, Sherry spilling the beans on old friends and what they were up to now, Wanda butting in now and again to correct her, rolling her eyes at Sherry's dramatics, the less fractured Trudi seemed.

It was an odd thing to witness, as if she was knitting herself back together because her old friends reminded her of the woman she'd been. Soon the three of them were so easy with each other it was as if it had only been a day since they'd parted. Tell the truth, it made my heart ache for Tara and what I'd lost there.

The re-made Trudi was fragile though, and I hoped she could hold it together for the party tomorrow. More folks were flying in the morning: a second cousin or two, a few work colleagues she'd gotten to know back when she was well enough to work, a couple of newer friends from New Mexico, a few of Timas's family. Some of Quinn's friends were coming too, local folks. We were expecting about fifty guests all told.

That afternoon Frannie took Trudi and her friends to a salon, so Quinn and I had chance to set everything up. Timas was going with them, since he had a way with Trudi. Then we were meeting back at Quinn's that evening for the big reveal. Frannie wanted her mom to have a night to get used to the idea, springing a party on her at the last minute was too big a risk.

So Quinn and I had about four or five hours to get the barn decorated.

Barn did not do the place justice; it was a lovely venue with a wooden floor and whitewashed walls, the open-beamed ceiling the only barn-like thing about it. One of Linden's pack, a woman who ran a florists, was carrying in buckets of flowers when we arrived. Apart from her, it was just us. Dylan was meant to be here but he couldn't get away from Special Events, something about a double-booking that had to be fixed. Getting everything ready was going to be tight.

…

Perched on top of a step-ladder I stretched as far as I could, but the banner I was hanging missed the hook I was aiming for by a hair and the step-ladder wobbled dramatically. I clutched at it, afraid it would tip, but it stilled suddenly and a deep, accented voice said from below, "I have eet."

I looked down. A handsome copper-brown face looked back at me. "Camargo," I said, surprise taking my manners. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"Si, we came early." He nodded up at me. "Hang the banner, Mees Stackhouse. I have you."

"Thank you," I said gratefully, reaching for the hook again with more confidence. Once I'd got the banner hung I hopped down, Camargo stepping neatly out of the way.

"My wife, Adelita and my daughter, Maria," he introduced and I exchanged hellos with the women behind him. Adelita was the shorter of the two, her waist thickened by motherhood and her face lined by laughter, but her hair was dark and she was still a handsome woman. Impeccably but comfortably dressed, too. Maria was tall and willowy. She was wearing jeans, a bright top, heels and more make-up than she needed in my opinion.

"Where is Quinn?" Camargo said, cutting to the chase somewhat rudely.

"Out the back," I said, gesturing to towards the kitchen. The phone signal was better out there. There was some last minute mix-up with the band and Quinn had stepped out to deal with it. Camargo nodded and left me with two women I hadn't known were coming, wondering how in the hell I was going to look after them when I had so much to do.

…

Maria and Adelita were a godsend. They didn't hesitate to roll up their sleeves and pitch in, and I would never have gotten everything done without their help. Especially as Quinn spent quite a while outside after that call, deep in discussion with Camargo, one of his older sons and the six other guys he'd brought just as unexpectedly as his womenfolk. Why men felt a need to stand around shooting the breeze before they lifted a single finger, I'd never understand. We womenfolk just saw what needed doing and got on with it.

Which was why we had time to take a break now. We were in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating the snacks Adelita had thought to bring. Tamal de dulce she called them, sweet tamales filled with raisins and wrapped in corn husks that she'd reheated carefully in the microwave. She'd taken a big plateful out to the men first, to thank them for their help. Maria had marched out there earlier and commandeered some of Camargo's guys when we needed furniture moving. Not that their eagerness was motivated by food, I think that had more to do with the sway of Maria's hips. She was single and she knew how to work every advantage God had given her.

"These are delicious," I said around a mouthful, and I wasn't just being polite. Adelita waved the compliment away, explaining that tamales were much better freshly cooked. "So," I said, swallowing, "what brought y'all here early?"

Adelita and her daughter exchanged a look. "Camargo is sending a message," Adelita said. "To Tennessee."

Maria noticed my reaction to that name and grimaced. "You know how it goes," she said, "always the posturing."

Adelita rattled off something sharp in Spanish that had Maria's face darkening, and soon they were exchanging heated words. I hid a smile, amused. They'd been squabbling on and off all afternoon, but there was no malice behind it and I'd finally realised it was just their way. Once Maria had thrown her hands up and admitted defeat, Adelita carried on as if nothing had happened, "Si, Sookie. Camargo thought it best to come in force after last week."

"Last week?" I asked, puzzled.

"You didn't hear?" Maria said, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling. "Nevada is under new management."

"Oh," I said softly, remembering Niall's phone call and putting two and two together to make six. I had a real good idea who'd acted on Niall's behalf against Felipe: New Mexico. "I guess congratulations are in order."

"El Viento's victory is our victory." Adelita smiled as she sipped her coffee, eyes on me. "He sends his regards."

"He does?" I murmured, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know why."

Adelita tutted disapprovingly. "Do not pretend not to know. You are a strong woman, Sookie, and that attracts attention. Camargo much admired the way you handled Quinn in Louisville."

"She means Papi likes you," Maria said, grinning. "Women should know how to handle their men."

"Especially in our family," Adelita said, with a twinkle in her eye. They both cackled as if that was a frequent joke. "This is why I approve of Frannie, you know. She stands up to Timas."

Maria snorted. "She needs to because you spoilt him, mom. He's such a brat."

Her comment kicked off another noisy squabble, one that conjured up a memory of Gran and Aunt Linda having a set-to over stuffing recipes one Thanksgiving when I was small, and letting their voices wash over me, I imagined for a moment that I belonged to this warm, noisy family of theirs, a bigger family than I'd ever known, and indulged in a pleasant daydream of cooking with female relatives, loud squabbles that were soon forgiven, teasing and laughter over shared jokes.

When I came back to reality, Jason, Michelle, my niece and nephew – all the family I had – seemed a million miles away. Lord, I missed them.

...

* * *

**AN: **The books are vague on Quinn's family background, so I've creatively filled in some details. I've given Mama Quinn a first name and also aged her up (as Quinn is 15 yrs older than Frannie, who seems to be late teens/twenty in FDtW); and Frannie is described as having a 'North-East' accent, so I've gone with New York State as the place Frannie and Quinn were raised, with the attack on their mom happening in Colorado on a camping trip of some sort.


End file.
